


When Truth and Lies Are One

by VicenteValtieri



Series: A Thousand Lives Unlived [11]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Cutting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fat Shaming, Flashbacks, Lies, M/M, Marriage, Past Underage, Praise Kink, Probably some Pron, Self-Harm, Sparkbonding, biomechanicals, manipulative!Optimus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-05-27 22:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15034457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicenteValtieri/pseuds/VicenteValtieri
Summary: Rebuilding is never easy. For those who've seen horror, going back to innocent dreams isn't possible. For Optimus Prime, leaving had seemed logical.But Starscream is ruling over Cybertron now - a loose cannon at war set over the society he worked so hard to protect, to resurrect. The Matrix is silent, the presence of Primus emptied, but the duty remains. As a Prime, Optimus cannot afford to leave Cybertron in the servos of a mech who cares for nothing and no one but himself. Optimus Prime will do whatever it takes to remove Starscream from power - even if that means undermining the Seeker personally or controlling him in a more... subtle way than simply overthrowing him.But there's a difference between words and deeds and as Optimus unlocks ever deepening levels of Starscream's psyche, he finds that there may be more to Megatron's screechy, impulsive second in command than anyone - least of all himself - ever expected. With threats closing in around them, can they learn to work together for the good of Cybertron? And perhaps... For something more?





	1. To Catch A Seeker

Of all of the mechs in High Command – on either side of the war – it was generally decided that Starscream was the most universally despised and feared. 

Of all of the outcomes any soldier had imagined, Starscream ruling Cybertron was not one of them. The Seeker had stepped up to fill a sudden gap over anyone else who should have been in the way. Prowl? Outmaneuvered. Bumblebee? Discredited. Metalhawk? Dead. Megatron? Hated worse than the Seeker himself. Optimus Prime? Absent. 

That, of course, was about to change. 

Optimus Prime – or Orion Pax as he had been calling himself – landed on Cybertron to be greeted by almost open hostility. The NAILS – or Neutrals – were suspicious of his motives after the fiasco that had been Bumblebee’s reign and anyone inside the city had given up their badges, including Jazz and Wheeljack. 

It surprised Optimus how good the city looked when he landed nearby. He was met by a delegation including a former Autobot – never a frontliner – called Ratrap. Apparently, he was Starscream’s lackey. 

Optimus stared down at him, examining him through his optics. “Greetings.”

“Hiya. The Boss wants to talk to you now that you’re here. Hem, about the badge…” Ratrap gestured around them. “It’s not exactly in good taste to wear those.”

Optimus had no doubt that Starscream had a listening device or even a video camera fixed on them even now. This would require some acting. “Of course.” He reached up and took it off, subspacing the badge. “The war is over, after all.”

“Of course.” Ratrap’s optics jumped in surprise. “Uhh… The government office is at the city center. This way.” He transformed and led off. His alt-mode was a beast-mode and scuttled surprisingly fast. Optimus followed behind in his own alt-mode. He hadn’t taken a Cybertronian one again yet: He hadn’t seen a vehicle to scan.

It wasn’t too surprising, though, that Starscream hadn’t taken one for himself. Optimus had spoken to Thundercracker and Acid Storm and they had agreed that the human jets were more elegant and easy flying than the Cybertronian constructions. Acid Storm had theorized briefly that it was the memory of earth and the atmosphere on that planet that made Seekers so fond of their earthen alt-modes. 

But that was neither here nor there. Starscream needed a reining servo. Optimus had seen that for himself. He was a wild mech at spark and though he often handily played at diplomacy and his words were powerful, he was no more a ruler than Megatron was a philanthropist. He would not be easy to convince, but the Prime was sure he could make him see logic. If Cybertron was to be united, he needed Optimus’s Autobots to counter the Decepticons. Optimus was the only one who could convince them to lay down their badges and join society. Ergo, Starscream needed Optimus.

He had faith that the Seeker – soaked in subtleties and surrounded by lies – would recognize his offer for what it was and would be curious enough to let down his carefully maintained guard. 

Starscream lived on the top floor of the governmental building. It wasn’t surprising. Starscream was a Seeker. He wanted the security that height lent him. He wanted to be close to where he worked and where he ran his city from. 

Optimus stepped into the lift. Starscream had insisted on a private meeting. He wanted to figure out what the Prime wanted before deciding anything. It was a standard tactic of his. Optimus quietly ran over what he was going to do in his processor again. He had brought a gift and a challenge. Starscream was a Seeker – they were culturally different. It had taken a long time for Pharma to teach the Prime anything about them at all, much more to understand even the most basic nature of their language. 

Pharma had traded the secrets of Vos for a posting as far from the front as he could get. He hadn’t wanted to die. In a way, Optimus couldn’t blame him for it. Seekers were a rare enough frame by then. Now… How many were left? Four? Assuming Pharma was still alive. Not enough.

He wondered what the Seeker medic was doing now.

He had to be shaken. The end of the war had shaken everyone. There were still Decepticons out there. Still rogue Autobots to be dealt with. Still mechs who would not come home.

They deserved to come back to something better than a world run by Starscream of all mechs.

Optimus knew the elevator had to be tagged for listening devices and cameras. It was a calculated move when he let his facemask roll back from his scarred lipplates and formed them carefully to whistle. It was a single word, almost meaningless without wings to augment it in any of the various subtleties, but Starscream would know he meant something by it. It was a declaration of intent. Of desire. 

Starscream was carefully posed when the elevator reached his apartment. Not on the balcony, because that might betray loneliness or fear – a need to escape. Not in the berthroom, because that would be a blatant invitation. One that – after the whistle in the elevator – he could not be sure Optimus would not accept. Not in the kitchen, because he was not a gracious host waiting for a welcomed guest. No.

Starscream was posed on a long, black couch. There was a datapad in his servo – a novel – and a cube of engex at his other servo. He looked up, languid and in control. His wings, though, were peeked towards Optimus. He was listening, interested, intense, no matter how relaxed the rest of him seemed. There was something blatantly sexual about the Seeker. He had been rebuilt several times over the years, from something boxy and basic to a work of art many, many times. 

“We don’t need an escort, Rattrap.” Starscream sat up and crossed his legs. “And I imagine the Prime wishes to speak to me alone.”

Rattrap shrugged and pressed a button, riding the elevator back down to the ground floor. Starscream sent a signal from his comm to secure the entrances to his apartment.

Optimus, watching him carefully, puckered his lipplates again, whistling halfway through his nasal vent and halfway through his lipplates.

Starscream’s wings jerked and he easily propped up his helm with one servo. “Do you know what you’re saying, Prime?” He returned the whistle, one wing fluttering slightly. The other, trapped against his shoulder, did little more than vibrate slightly. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” Optimus sat down on the chair directly across from the Seeker – careful to keep his optics locked on him.

“Color me intrigued.” Starscream lifted his cube to his lipplates. “Why would you want a courtship?”

Optimus stared at him, letting the Seeker work through his own rhetorical question.

“Of course… I’m the one in power now.” Starscream mused. “And you want in on it. So, the question isn’t what do you want… It’s what I want. What do you have, that I want that badly…”

And now it was time to dust off his own skills. “Do you think you’re safe here?”

“…Safe as I’ve ever been.” His optics were wandering, taking in his room, but his wings were swung onto Optimus, just like the Prime’s eyes were on him. 

“Do you think the Autobots don’t have operatives? That there are no plans to topple you?” Optimus kept his voice mellow and musing, the subtext only too obvious. The balance of power was swinging his way again as he tapped into a deep-set paranoia. It wasn’t his usual tactics. He played fair and open, normally. But this wasn’t normal and Starscream wasn’t an opponent that could be defeated with usual tactics. 

Starscream’s wings were still on him, but his optics were determinedly away. He was caught between trying to be casual and relaxed and trying to keep Optimus in his sights. It was a move that probably worked on most grounders, on those who focused on the way the helm was placed. But Optimus had learned – on the field, with Pharma, before he was Prime – that it wasn’t the optics you had to watch with Seekers. They expressed everything with their wings. “I imagine they do. What makes you think I don’t know about them?”

“Do you trust Rattrap?” Optimus had him now. He could almost see the moment the hook dug into the Seeker’s plating. Reaching out, the Prime took the cube of engex from an unresisting servo and took a deep sip, optics still locked on Starscream.

The Seeker’s faceplates twisted. His wings lowered slightly, then snapped back into place. He was controlling them now – trying to lie with his wings. He was out of practice, but not entirely – his frame was still tightly controlled. He was coiled, tight like a spring. He didn’t even react to the theft of his engex and Optimus felt the balance tip and the Seeker tumble into his servos.

“…I’d be a fool not to hear you out.” Starscream slowly spoke. “You’ve dealt fairly in the past.”

“Yes.” Optimus set the half-full cube down on the table separating them. “This is my bargain. Accept my proposal, and I will order my Autobots to stand down. I will disband the Autobots finally, and order them back. There are some who won’t obey, of course, but most will understand. Most still listen to me.”

“And in exchange… My spark. My freedom. Everything I have built.” Starscream stood up, servos clenched at his sides and stared – unseeing – at the city he had wrestled with. “How do I know you will keep your bargain?”

“The people of Cybertron have spoken.” Optimus stood up as well, joining the Seeker at the window, overlooking the city. “You are their ruler – Chosen.” He picked his words carefully. “Unite Cybertron, and you will live forever in history.”

“Your proposition doesn’t unite Cybertron.” Starscream drew his arms around himself, a surprising display of vulnerability. “It simply pulls the Autobots back into my city. And it allows you to take root, right here.”

“It reduces your enemies by a half.” Optimus replied, stepping closer to Starscream’s back – a calculated step closer. One servo went into his subspace. 

“It increases the ardor of the others… And Megatron is still alive.” Starscream murmured.

“In time, he will be dealt with.” Optimus drew a heavy necklace – composed of Radian and jewels – diamonds and sapphires with bright, red rubies – a million different facets sparkling in the light, around Starscream’s neck like a garot. The flowers and frost glittered around a dark protoform. The Prime didn’t let it rest on Starscream’s armor yet, holding it just so, that it was barely recognizeable against the armor.

Starscream’s venting held itself in for a long moment. Optimus could see his optics in the glass, watching them roll. He marveled at how easy it had been. He had taken Starscream apart with a few words. A few doubts. The Seeker had to live in constant terror of assassination for him to have that effect.

Optimus draped the collar around his neck and Starscream finally reacted, jerking away from him. “Have you no sense of propriety?!” He screeched. “At least be seen with me a few times before you lay such a claim!” He practically fled the Prime, drawing the last rags of his dignity back around himself. 

Optimus found himself smiling. On his mutilated faceplate, it looked like some kind of horrible sneer. He drew his mask back into place. “When can we be seen then?”

Starscream was venting heavily, wings dropping and his helm bowed. “…Tomorrow evening. Meet me here, and we’ll go to Blurr’s bar.”

Optimus nodded and stowed the slightly tinkling necklace in his subspace again. “I wouldn’t wait too long to accept my offer.” He casually warned Starscream, off-servo and tossed out like a tidbit. “Our courtship might spur certain parties to action.”

Something smashed into the wall beside the elevator as Optimus stepped into it. He couldn’t help but feel almost ashamed as the lift began gently falling down towards the bottom floor. He wasn’t normally a manipulator. But he had just out-flanked and out-foxed a master of the craft. Starscream’s rolling, desperate optics, reflected over a city the Seeker was trying to rebuild swam in his processor. 

Was he doing the right thing?


	2. Swing In and Turn Out

Optimus walked into Blurr’s bar and couldn’t help but smile with his optics as he looked around. It was so loud and jovial that he almost hoped he could slip into a booth unnoticed. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out that way.

Jazz spotted him from the stage, thumping out something jazzy on his electrobass. It sounded more earth than Cybertron at the moment. He gave a jaunty wave that drew attention from the other patrons. Most of them looked up and raised their glasses. Some stood up to greet him.

“Glad to see you back, Prime.” 

“Hey, Optimus, long time no see!”

Optimus waved back, exchanged pleasantries, and now that his cover was blown, stepped up to the bar. “Good day, Blurr. How’s business?”

“Verygoodindeed,Optimus,thankyouverymuch.WhatcanIgetforyou?” Blurr’s glossa rolled out smoothly as he mixed together a tall, layered drink. 

“Nothing too fancy.” Optimus looked at the menu. “What’s a… Two-Faced Seeker?”

“Coldandbitterwithhintsofironandnickel.” Blurr replied. “Inameditforourerstwhileruler.”

“I think he’d take that as a compliment. I’ll have one of those.” Optimus nodded his thanks as Blurr shook together the ingredients and set the drink in front of him. 

“Consideringthathehasn’tcomeinlately,Isupposethere’snoharminriskinghimtakingitasaninsult.” Blurr leaned on the bar briefly. “It’sstrangethathehasn’tcomein.Normally,hetakesthatcornerboothoverand-spendstheeveningdrinkingandtypingondatapads.”

“That’s strange. Have you figured out if he drinks to remember or to forget yet?”

“Betweenyouandme,Prime,Ithinkhedrinkstogetsomesleep.”

“I see.” Optimus sipped the drink. It was bitingly cold and bitter, with a kick of iron. 

Blurr had to rush off down the bar to fulfill the demands of other customers and Optimus sipped his Two-Faced Seeker musingly. The engex Starscream had been drinking had been bitter, but lukewarm and without any additives. He might not be much for cocktails. 

Jazz swaggered over and perched on a chair beside Optimus. “How’s it kicking, Prime?”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Optimus replied, shrugging, tilting the purple drink around the glass. “How are you, Jazz?”

“Glad to be done with fighting.” Jazz stretched. “Things are still a little chaotic, but that’s expected. Wheeljack… Wheeljack’s gone, Prime.”

“I heard.” It had been one of the reasons Optimus had come back, actually. They lapsed into quiet. 

“Anyway, Prime… Look, you should come up to my place and talk for a bit. It’s too loud here. Come on. I’m just over the bar next to Blurr.” Jazz led him away from the madding crowd and up the stairs. Optimus carried his two-faced Seeker with him. 

Jazz’s place was spartan, but cozy, with speakers in every piece of furniture – as Optimus had expected from the musically-inclined mech. “Optimus, you know about Prowler an’ me, right?” The assassin and spy-bot reminded him.

“I do.” Optimus settled down in a chair. “Why isn’t Prowl here with you?”

“Too proud to settle in.” Jazz sighed and leaned on one servo. “He’s got too many schemes running around in his processor for his own good. He’s been pinging me non-stop since you arrived on planet, wanting to know why you came back.”

“And you? You’re not the least bit curious?” Optimus sipped his drink again and set it down on Jazz’s side table.

“I think I can guess. I watched you on your way to the spire and you aren’t wearing your badge anymore. Decided to settle down for yourself?”

“…Not in the way you’re thinking.” Optimus replied.

“I know. I saw you through the window of Starscream’s apartment.” Jazz tapped a pair of binoculars on the couch beside him. “I think I can make a pretty good guess of what you’re thinking.”

Optimus shaded his optics, picking up the Two-Faced Seeker and swirling it. 

“Starscream’s not a good mech. He’s probably not even a bad mech. Heck, he might be evil of the highest order.” Jazz continued. “But he’s been abused and he’s done nothing but try to rebuild this city. Granted, he’s building it back in his own image. I trust you, Optimus. Sometimes, I don’t know why I do. But Starscream’s a bundle of issues and a match flame away from exploding. Do you really think you can handle that?”

“I handled you before.” Optimus replied softly. 

“I’m nothing like him.”

“Not now.” Optimus took another sip of the drink in his servo. “But then… You were a piece of work, you have to admit.”

Jazz’s smile was wan and soft. “And as soon as you could, you handed me off to Prowler – not that I’m objecting. Starscream’s never going to be the mech you’d want, Optimus. He’s got no interest in you and no morals to back it up.”

“Are you lecturing me or trying to offer advice?”

“I’m trying to understand what you’re thinking, ‘cause this is crazy on all fronts.” Jazz replied. “But I get the feeling I won’t ever understand. …Can I see the necklace? It looked pretty from where I was, but the glare was too bright for the binocs to get through.”

Optimus reached into his subspace and drew the collar out. It looked quite delicate, but when it was in a mech’s hands, it was heavy and solid. Bright red rubies cut into rounded squares had been surrounded by delicate patterns of frost white and blue diamonds and sapphires. “It took quite some time to find a piece as gaudy as he is.”

“As strong as he is too.” Jazz tugged gently on the band, testing it. “Be careful, Optimus. Don’t underestimate him, either how conniving or how petty he is.”

“In my life, I’ve found that I can be both of those things as well.” Optimus admitted. “It’s Starscream who should be wary of underestimating me.”

 

Jazz would not be the last of the concerned former-Autobots who would approach Optimus concerning his choice of mate. Especially not after Optimus walked into Maccadam’s with the Seeker on his arm.

They took a corner booth, out of view of most, but it didn’t truly matter. Half the bar had seen them come in.

Optimus ordered Two-Faced Seekers for the both of them and Blurr’s optics went to Starscream to gauge his reaction, but the Seeker had brought a datapad and was typing on it. He didn’t seem to have noticed the drink’s name.

“I allow quite a bit of dissent for a tyrant.” Starscream commented as Blurr sped back to the bar to assemble their drinks. “Though it really should just be Seven-Headed Seeker and be done with it.”

“The drink itself is quite good, even if the naming choice isn’t quite politically correct.”

“I don’t care. They can name their drinks after me as much as they like.” Starscream replied. “You have no idea what mechs called me in the Decepticons and they named everything they could after me. It was a way to poke fun at someone, and I couldn’t ban it then without being petty and I can’t ban it now. It’s free speech.”

“That’s surprisingly big of you.”

“I know. There are untapped depths to my processor. Amazing.” Starscream looked up at Blurr when he placed the drinks down in front of them. “Do you have any rust sticks, Blurr?”

“Ithinkso.I’llhaveJazzcheckthestoreroom.” Blurr whisked off back to the bar, comming Jazz as he went.

Optimus was quieted by Starscream’s sarcasm as he sipped his Two-Faced Seeker. “…What are you working on?”

“A declaration of pardon.” Starscream replied, picking the twist of copper out of his drink and nibbling on it. “To all Decepticons and Autobots who lay down their badges and swear an oath.”

“That won’t be a popular move.” Optimus warned the Seeker, but there was a smirk playing about his faceplate.

“Which is why I’m not going to make it. You are.” Starscream settled back in the booth, handing him the datapad. “You’re going to stand in front of the spire in three decacycle’s time and make a speech – after I’ve made mine, of course – announcing our impending bonding and declaring this edict in effect.”

Optimus scanned through it. “Starscream, this is a pardon for any and all warcrimes committed. I can’t announce this. It’s outrageous.”

“It’s a pardon to any and all warcrimes on the condition that the mechs in question throw down their allegiances and start over.” Starscream corrected. “Come on, Prime, can you really see the mechs that people want to see stand trial doing that? Can you see Overlord doing that? Can you see Megatron doing that?”

“…No, I can’t.” Optimus admitted. “But I can see someone like Soundwave doing that or even Sixshot.”

“Pfft. Sixshot is a latter-days Phase Sixer. No one knows his name: He doesn’t leave many survivors. I bet most of the Neutrals would have a hard time identifying him if they saw him right in front of them.” Starscream sipped his drink. “…Hmm, this is excellent.” 

“I thought you’d like it.” Optimus read through the edict again. “I hope you realize that this could backfire spectacularly on all of us.”

“I’m willing to take the risk. It’s a condition of our impending nuptials and, yes, it’s a make or break portion of the deal.” Starscream’s optics flashed at the Prime. “I may be at risk of assassins, but I won’t be tied down. I am going to raise Cybertron back to something resembling glory and I can’t do that if my allies are afraid of being tried for the same things your Autobots did.”

“No ones servos are clean.” Optimus held up one servo in a pacifying gesture. “And that’s not what I’m saying. But this would forbid those on the Autobots’ side from being tried as well.”

“Oh, Optimus…” Starscream sighed. “If they take advantage of this, they won’t be Autobots.”

The Seeker had a point and some very convincing, logical arguments. Optimus found himself reading through the edict more thoroughly, one servo discarded on the table next to his drink. He nearly jumped out of his plating when Starscream laid his own, delicate servo on top of it.

“We’re supposed to be married in less than a vorn.” Starscream hissed at him, hiding it behind his own drink. “Act like it.”

“All right, all right.” Optimus grumbled, shifting his servo and taking Starscream’s so they were holding each other’s digits. The tips of Starscream’s claws pricked at his servo, but he ignored them. “How long will this edict be in effect? There’s a time-limit mentioned.”

“The window will be a vorn. Time enough for word to get around and for Cybertronians to return home from the depths of space.” Starscream replied. “After that time period, we can begin talking about trials for war criminals who didn’t take advantage.”

“The idea being that the mechs who did take advantage just want peace and a clean slate while those who refused to deserve to be put on trial and prosecuted to the full extent of the Tyrest Accord.”

“Exactly.” Starscream toasted the Prime with his glass. “Brilliant, no? And, once the pardonees have had their pardon, they will be bound to the laws and statutes of new Cybertron.”

“Discussing business or pleasure, Gentlemechs?” Jazz set a dish of rust sticks down on the table between them. His optics went to Optimus’s, searching for something. 

“Both.” Starscream replied, taking one of the rust sticks and nibbling on the end. “Is Sky-Byte coming out to recite some of his poetry today?”

“Nope. He’s taking an evening. Working on his masterpiece.” Jazz replied, optics locked on the way their servos were folded together. “You know how artists can be.”

“I’ve met a few of them.” Starscream agreed, sipping his drink. He pulled Optimus’s servo to his lipplates and pressed a kiss to the back. “But if Sky-Byte isn’t here to depress us, why are you trying to? Get something upbeat playing, will you?”

“Something you can jive to, Mech? I’ll see what I can do.” With a last look towards the Prime, Jazz headed for his electrobass on the stage.

“Do you have to be so theatrical?” Optimus questioned the Seeker. 

“It comes with the territory.” Starscream smirked. “Don’t tell me the Mighty Prime can’t dance.”

“…I’ve never tried.” Optimus admitted. “And don’t call me that.”

“Oh, I’ll call you what I like in berth.” Starscream shot back the rest of his Two-Faced Seeker as Jazz hit up a funky, pounding beat. “Come on then. Give it a moment and let’s get up and dance: End the evening on a high note.”

“…Let’s let someone else get on the floor first.” Optimus checked Starscream’s optics. He was perfectly sober. “Why are you doing this?”

“To show my people that you have a good influence on me.” Starscream was smiling now. It was slightly creepy. “Or did you think this would work if we were so obvious about what’s going on?”

“You’re trying to provoke me.” Optimus hit on the reasoning in a flash. “You want to see how far I’m willing to go.”

Starscream popped the remains of his rust stick into his intake and crushed it between denteas curled up in a turbofox’s smile. “Is it working?”

Optimus handed him back the datapad containing his edict of pardon and Starscream subspaced it, waiting for Optimus’s next move. On the dance floor, Waspinator was spinning around with Tall Tankor and a former Decepticon was turning with a mech Optimus recognized as Zetca. The Prime stood up abruptly and held out an arm to his table mate. “Let’s dance.”

Starscream clearly hadn’t been expecting that, but he took the arm gracefully and let himself be drawn out. Jazz thumped his bass twice, working out a rhythm with his pedes as he plucked up the strings and the Prime and the Seeker set up to turn. 

“It’s been a while.” Starscream warned him as the Prime swung him out for the first turn. 

“How long do you think it’s been for me?” Optimus questioned, pulling Starscream through some fancy pedework. Already, the Seeker was outpacing him, making him rush to catch up. He was going to look like an amateur next to the natural grace of a Seeker.

“Not long enough, mud clod.” Starscream tossed out the insult like a fond pet name and Optimus mentally groaned. Of course, Starscream would have stayed up all of last night cycle thinking of ways to make this as hard as he could. Mildly insulting nicknames, dancing, an edict of pardon… What would be next? Where would Optimus have to put his pede down?

Optimus pulled Starscream into an unexpected swing as Jazz vibrated one of his strings. He had to get ahead of this curve somehow: Counter the Seeker and play him at his own game. Starscream – to the Prime’s frustration – took the swing easily and tossed himself into a dip across Optimus’s arm. 

Many of the mechs around the bar were gossiping among themselves. Tall Tankor stepped on Waspinator’s pede as he gawked at them. This would be a moment for the ages: Starscream and Optimus Prime. The hated Decepticon and beloved Autobot, swinging together like they had been built for it. 

Optimus had to admit, Starscream was an excellent dancer. He could probably go circles around the Prime all day if he had a chance. And… to his shock, he was enjoying himself. 

The rest of the band had gotten over their shock at the Prime and Starscream taking the floor and joined in with the electrobass. Soon, the whole bar was jiving and even those who weren’t dancing were tapping their pedes. Optimus found himself genuinely enjoying the swing and jive of the music and of the slim frame he was tossing out and pulling in. Starscream’s wings fluttered and angled, controlling the swing and spin with deft movements, covering Optimus’s mistakes on instinct.

“Hey! Who’s that coming?!” Jazz called out.

“Hey! Who’s that coming?!” The band echoed the call.

“The hottest little pede-stepper coming up to the floor!” Jazz made a popping noise in time with the beat. “Ratatatatat! Can’t you here his heels on the floor?!” Skidding his digits up the strings, he tapped out a quick, hard ending, and struck the strings with wide digits to make them echo.

Optimus swung Starscream one last time and pulled him in, linking their arms in a move Jazz himself had taught him. They walked off together and slid back into their booth.

“It’s been too long since I’ve done that.” Starscream’s vents were slightly uneven and he shook his helm to get rid of any excess spin still going on between his audials. 

“I’ve never danced like that.” Optimus took his drink back up and pitched it back. “…You’re really good at that.”

“Pshaw. Skywarp is better than I am by a long shot.”

They fell into an awkward silence. In the post-euphoric tremors, they both remembered what they were and what they were doing.

Optimus scratched the back of his helm before taking Starscream’s servo again. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Let me finish my rust sticks first.” Starscream was sucking meditatively on the second-to-last one. Optimus snatched the last one and chewed it, not wanting to be here any longer. Starscream shot him a look. “Thief.”

“I assumed you meant to share.” Optimus countered as he laid a few Shanix beside their drinks and the plate of rust sticks. 

“More likely that you’re just used to taking.” Starscream rolled his optics at him and stood up, rust stick still hanging part of the way out of his intake. 

“You look like a Sparkling on All Light’s Day.” Optimus told him as he pushed open the door to the bar, and they stepped out into the chill of an Iacon evening.

“I wish it was All Light’s Day. That would imply it’s going to get warmer eventually.” Starscream’s wings shivered. “I hate the weather here.”

Optimus, without a word, draped an arm around his shoulders.


	3. A Discussion of Current Events

Over the next decacycle, they were seen together almost every cycle. Usually, it was at Blurr’s bar, where Starscream could spread out his work and Optimus was sometimes allowed to help him. It depended on the mercurial Seeker’s mood. Other times, they made certain to be spotted going for walks around the city. Starscream observed the progress made rebuilding – not usually much, the neutrals had many, many conflicts that it seemed they couldn’t get over without having them worked out, they exhausted the Seeker’s patience. Optimus observed Starscream.

Sometimes, Starscream would shoot blatantly berth-room optics at the Prime and lead him up into the spire for the evening. Optimus always slipped out before dawn. Circuit, he knew, followed them obsessively. There was always a story to be had, but optics were drawn to them. The video someone had taken of their turn on Blurr’s dancefloor had received millions of views. 

Optimus couldn’t see the appeal. Starscream was an attractive enough mech and he knew he wasn’t exactly ugly, but their relationship had to seem off to anyone who didn’t know the full story. As far as Optimus knew, only Jazz and maybe Rattrap did. 

Then again, perhaps that was why. After all, nothing intrigued a processor like a mystery and gossip magazines had existed long before the war. Starscream had wanted their relationship to look natural to those around him. Perhaps he thought it would make him look weak to admit that it was purely for pragmatic reasons. He would rather lie than admit he needed help.

Optimus still scanned the drinks he had at Starscream’s place for poison when the Seeker’s back was turned. Either that, or he didn’t drink them. So far, they were clean, but that wasn’t an assurance they would be in future. He was dealing with a dangerous mech, someone who had no problem with taking lives and no respect for the opinions of others. He had accepted that. 

The edict of pardon still bothered him. Starscream’s motivations seemed clear on the surface: He needed disciplined mechs, able to work together. He needed Autobots and Decepticons. But he also needed to keep the Neutrals on his side. Wouldn’t it be just as easy to train disciplined neutrals to work together?

Then again, that might be the keyword: Disciplined. The neutrals were united only in their distrust and wariness of any who still held the Autobot or Decepticon badge. Otherwise, they were scattered into more factions than Optimus could keep track of. There were those who were with Tappet – wanting a disbanded form of government, loose enforcement. Then there were those who supported Starscream because he had been Metalhawk’s friend – and that was its own set of processor frags – because Starscream supposedly stood for unity and order. Those were the ones Starscream was training as law enforcement mechs. Then there were those behind the push for a unified, set-in-stone constitution that would serve as the highest law of the land. There was a great deal of confusion and fear. Nothing was set, nothing was ready. There was no succession, no way to remove Starscream because nothing was done. As fast as Starscream covered one problem, fifteen more rose up.

They needed to set up an education system, an election system, some form of representation… Everything had to be done and it had to be done now. Starscream was about to declare a re-institution of a fully-elected council to help him run things. But that would only lead to more questions: How long should a term be? Who should be eligible to run? What powers will the Council have versus the Chancellor – that would be Starscream – and what would his term be? Who would be eligible for that position?

Maybe Starscream knew this. Perhaps he was creating these questions on purpose. Keep the people focused on the details and not what he was doing. Optimus didn’t doubt that Starscream intended to rule Cybertron for as long as he functioned. The longer he could put off the question of when his term would end, the less likely it was that anyone would ask that question. Other things would crop up, and Starscream’s rule would go on perpetually. 

And then there was the tax question and the question of a monetary system. Starscream favored using the universal Shanix, while others wanted credits, and still others declared that a new Cybertron needed a new Currency. Taxes were going to be touchy. So far, Optimus had found out that Starscream was bankrolling the new government from his own, personal fortune – collected over eons of war. But that couldn’t last forever, not just because Starscream wouldn’t allow it, but because it wasn’t right. If it continued, the new government might find itself millennia in debt to one Seeker. 

Optimus suspected that one of Starscream’s reasons for keeping him around was that – aside from the edict of pardon – he was going to use the Prime to help smooth over the transition to what was definitely going to be a series of unpopular decisions. The Prime had been… investigating Starscream’s office and found a whole set of datapads with the final answer to many of the touchiest issues of Starscream’s reign. The only reason he wouldn’t have already been putting them into effect was if he was keeping them for someone more popular than he was to announce. It was exactly the kind of move Optimus would expect from him and it would sap what goodwill he still had among the Neutrals. 

That – he was beginning to realize – was probably the point. Starscream was being forced to keep him as an ally. He was going to use the Prime to the best of his abilities and then find a way to discard him. It was a ruthless outlook, but one that would likely work, if Optimus allowed it. 

Optimus carried the datapad with the edict of pardon on it out into the front living room where Starscream was working on drafts for a constitution – he had five datapads full of drafts, there was no doubt he was trying – and putting back cold, hard engex. This edict would be the deciding factor in their relationship, it would show who had power and over whom. Optimus couldn’t afford to lose this battle.

“Starscream-“ Optimus found himself cut off.

“I can’t give you sparklings.” The Seeker snapped out, not taking his optics off of his datapad. 

“…That’s not…”

“Megatron tried to get one from me for eons before giving up.” Starscream sat up straight, helm swaying on his neck. His optics were sparking and fizzing. For a moment, Optimus couldn’t identify the reason – he had never seen the Seeker like this before. Then, it came to him in a flash. Starscream was over-charged. Very over-charged. 

“I don’t-“

“Oh, shut up.” Starscream flopped back on the couch on his back. “What does anyone want from a Seeker?”

“I never thought of sparklings-“ Optimus tried again.

“It’s a shame.” The Seeker’s vents hiccuped. “The rabble out there will probably take it as proof that our bonding is the sham you’ve set up. I wonder how you’re going to wiggle your way out of that one.”

“You’re the one who’s insisting on making it look as if we have a relationship.” Optimus replied.

“You’re the one insisting on having a relationship at all.” Starscream sniped back. Then, he let out a giggle. “I can’t wait to see their faceplates when they figure it out. That’s the problem with a lie, Prime. It gets out eventually. Eventually, someone finds the truth.”

“You’re overcharged.” Optimus set the edict down on the table, it would have to wait. “You should get some recharge, clear your systems.”

“I’m busy.” Starscream made grabbing motions for his draft of the constitution. Optimus read the last few lines upside down. It was mostly nonsense. The usually precise Seeker would have been embarrassed to read it in the morning. He reached out and pressed the power button. “Hey! I hadn’t saved!”

“Trust me, you’ll be glad of that in the morning.” Optimus wasn’t even sure he would remember any of this in the morning. He grabbed the Seeker around the waist and tossed him over his shoulder. “Come on.”

“Nooo…” Starscream giggled harder. “I’m busy…”

“It can wait for the morning.” Optimus flipped the Seeker out onto his berth and turned out the lights. “Good night.”


	4. Color Death

Their announcement came too slowly and too fast at the same time. Optimus and Starscream were seen together almost every evening. Starscream insisted that he didn’t want Optimus to make a public proposal, but instead to come to his apartment the night before. The press conference, the announcement, the speeches, and the edict were all scheduled to begin at sunrise. Starscream had insisted. “Vosnian tradition” he called it. Optimus was pretty sure he was just being an aft and crowding them all up out of berth at an obscene hour for fun. 

He appeared for their “sleepover” at nine, as instructed, and climbed up into the spire. It was mostly full of junk: Bits and pieces of things Starscream thought might be useful someday, but the top floors had been cleared and furnished into offices for the few mechs who would work with Starscream. The number had increased ever since he had been seen with the Prime, but it still wasn’t a large one.

“Butterflies in your tank?” Starscream hummed as Optimus stepped into his private quarters. He was standing beside the window, watching the stars come out. “You should be proud.” The Seeker swirled a footed glass of something. “I didn’t think you had the bearings to see this through.”

“I’ve seen through worse things.” Optimus came to join him at the window, pouring himself a glass of the pink engex Starscream was drinking. “You realize that Jazz can see through these windows with his binoculars?” He questioned.

“If you’re trying to talk me out of being pressed up against one of them and fragged out of my processor, that’s fine.” Starscream tossed back the vibrant, pink drink and poured himself another. “Frankly, I don’t care. Let him look. It’s nothing anymech hasn’t seen before.”

“I have a bit more self respect than fragging someone in full view of Iacon.”

“Spoilsport.” The Seeker sniffed. “Have you figured out your speech for tomorrow?”

“Have you?”

“Of course.” Starscream tapped a datapad with his claw. “I have it committed to memory.” He folded his arms. “Well, there’s a viewscreen if you want to watch something on the holonet. I have work.” The Seeker gathered up an armload of datapads and headed into an office, carrying the remains of his second drink with him. Optimus settled in for a long evening. 

Starscream’s apartment had – of all things – five bedrooms. Optimus wasn’t sure he wanted to know the logic behind the number. Four out of the five were kept neat and clean, waiting for someone to settle in. The fifth was a disaster area. Clearly, this was Starscream’s berthroom. The convoy couldn’t help but be mildly disgusted by the way Starscream lived. There were empty cubes everywhere and datapads on every surface. He knew Starscream worked hard, but this… This was just neglect. 

Optimus found himself cleaning up the place. It was amazing Starscream still functioned in this kind of squalor. The pile of cubes filled up the washer when he loaded them all in. Starscream probably just fabricated more when he was out of clean ones. 

For all of the evenings he had spent in the apartment, Optimus had never been inside Starscream’s berthroom – except to dump him in berth the one time he had gotten overcharged. He explored mildly, neatening the berth and straightening the lamp and the stack of datapads on the bedside table. In the attached washracks, he found more paints and cosmetics than he had ever seen before. Some of the containers were empty or nearly so and he ended up tossing them into a recycler nearby. The mirror had smudges of glossy and… red paint?

Why was there red, white, and blue paint on Starscream’s vanity?

Cybertronians’ colors came from pigment-producing nanites in their armor. They didn’t need to paint themselves regularly. They certainly didn’t need this much paint… or this much polish. Optimus began reading labels. The containers boasted that they could conceal blemishes and imperfections in any armor. The paints had a stamp that stated they were “specially mixed” to match with their wearer’s armor. Combined with the polish, the paints were evidence of something that Optimus hadn’t seen since before the war truly began. A combination of hard work, lack of recharge, and starvation resulted in a condition called “color death.” It was a prelude to far, far more lethal conditions. 

Starscream’s vanity was legendary. During the war, he had been known to have oil baths whenever possible – to paint himself different colors whenever not. How long had he been hiding this?

Optimus considered that Starscream might just be vain. The paints could be hiding minor blemishes, scars, and the polish could simply be because he did like to look his best. There, was of course, a few fool-proof tests. Reaching out, Optimus grabbed a washrag and wet it with solvent. This wasn’t concern, he told himself. But he deserved – needed – to know what he was getting into. Color Death led to Plating Death led to rust infections. 

Starscream didn’t look up at him when he came in. “Need something, Prime? What the-!” The Seeker cut himself off with a sharp yelp as Optimus rubbed the washrag along the edges of his wing. The white paint came away along with the red stripe and revealed that Starscream was greying around the edges. A good sized strip of grey ran from the edges of his wings in towards the center, where his brands had been removed. “You glitch, get away from me!” Datapads scattered as he struggled away from Optimus, but the Prime released him easily. He had what he needed to see. 

“How long have you had Color Death?” The Prime folded his arms, trying to look stern without being intimidating. 

“Oh, frag off.” Starscream hissed, one servo coming up to try and cover the bare spot on his armor. “As if you care.”

“I do care, because if this has gone on for this long, you could have a rust infection lurking beneath your plates, eating you from the inside out. Primus dammit, Starscream! You need to see Flatline.” Optimus scrubbed a servo down his faceplates.

“I’m fine.” The Seeker snapped tartly, stomping out of the office. “It’s under control.”

“Nothing you touch is under control.” Optimus pursued the Seeker. “If you have Color Death, it’s a sign of severe stress and physical neglect! You’ll need treatments and medication and – in the worst case scenario – a nanite patch!”

“I don’t have time for this.” Starscream picked up a spray pen from beside his painting supplies and began re-doing the paint on his wing. “It’s none of your business.”

“How bad is it?” Optimus demanded. “Where else is it?”

“What part of “none of your business” don’t you – ACK!” Starscream gave a screech as his spray pen fell onto the floor. Optimus had thrown an arm around his side and dragged him into the washracks, pushing him under a full spray of solvent and water. It was a weak mixture, but enough. Paint came away in peels and streams of color down the drain. 

Starscream spat and hissed, striking out with his claws, but Optimus had him under the arms and he couldn’t get loose. 

Optimus released Starscream when, instead of a tricolor Seeker, it was a mostly grey one with tricolor patches he was holding up. Silence fell between them as Optimus glared at the dull, unimpressive creature that had been the fiercely beautiful Air Commander. 

Starscream folded his arms across his cockpit – the single point of true color on his frame. “Happy?” His optics still burned, his lipplates still pouted. His protoform was a glossy gunmetal – no signs of rust, and his cockpit was still a warm amber-gold. In many ways, he was still beautiful – pride and dignity tended to do that, even in the face of mutilation. 

But it was appalling – physically appalling – that in a time when no one was starving, when the war was over, that there was a case of Color Death this awful. It was a miracle he hadn’t contracted Plating Death! “Primus, Starscream…” Optimus couldn’t tear his optics away. “You need a medic, before you lose all of your color nanites.”

“I was dealing with it!” The Seeker snapped, reaching for the washrack’s stall door. “It’s not-“

“You weren’t “dealing with it!” Optimus grabbed the door and held it shut, trapping Starscream there. “You were covering it up! There are medics, Starscream!”

Starscream hissed. “You don’t understand.”

“Of course, I understand!” Optimus snapped. “Do you think I’ve never had to cover up or minimize an injury to maintain an illusion of strength? I led a decimated faction through a planet that had turned on us!”

And it was you and yours who put us there. Hung unsaid between them.

Starscream’s faceplates puckered into a pout and then drew out into a smirk. “And here you are now. What are you going to do?”

“…Primus, Starscream, what do you think I’m going to do?” Optimus touched his commlink. “I’m going to call Flatline.”

“No!” The Seeker hissed. 

Optimus raised a challenging optical ridge at him.

“…Not tonight, at least. Tomorrow is too important. It has to go off without a hitch.” Starscream pressed a servo to his helm, turning away. “You can call him the day after tomorrow, if you must.”

“…Who else knows?” Optimus finally let Starscream out of the shower. 

“Swindle suspects. I have to order my paints from him. Rattrap knows: I needed someone to help me with my back.” Starscream picked up the spray pen and looked down at his spotted frame. “Do my back.” He ordered the Prime. “Try not to mess up.”

“No one else?”

“Flatline suspects.” Starscream ran the white pen over his servo, laying down a base coat. “But I haven’t let him do a full examination. Hook knew, but he’s not in a position to make trouble.”

Optimus took a pen full of black paint and began working on Starscream’s helm carefully. “…You have to get medical attention.”

“Haven’t we already been over this?” Starscream snapped. “The day after tomorrow. I promise.”

“If you don’t call Flatline then, I will.” The Prime threatened.

“I’ll call!” Starscream finished his servo and moved up the arm. “Just shut up about it.”

They fell silent. Re-painting Starscream was a long, arduous task and Optimus began to wish he hadn’t been quite so thorough in exposing exactly how ill he was. It took hours to finish the re-painting and hours more for it to dry. The night was almost over by the time they were done. 

Starscream examined the skyline. “…We have a few hours before sunrise. Let’s get in berth.”

Optimus sighed and collapsed into the berth behind him. “…I haven’t figured out my speech yet.” He covered his optics with one servo.

“Of course, you haven’t.” Starscream grumbled. “Don’t you dare make me look like an idiot tomorrow morning.”

“I won’t, dearest.” Optimus reached into his subspace and pulled out the necklace. In the dim light, it barely sparkled. “Don’t forget to wear this.”

“Primus, I hate you so much.” Starscream muttered into his pillow, fastening on the sparkling chain. “Remember, no edict, no bonding, so don’t you even think of pulling a fast one on me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Optimus replied, closing his optics. “Is there an alarm set?”

“I’ll wake you.”

“Yes, but who will wake you?”

“There’s an alarm, trust me.”

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

“Prime, shut up.”


	5. BSpark, ToftheD, FreeFlying, and GoldenBoy

Optimus woke to someone with a mildly pleasant voice humming in the washracks. It took him a long moment to realize it had to be Starscream. For a few more minutes, he lay with his faceplates planted into the berh and just listened in that sleepy dream-state between recharge and waking. 

There was a chime from beside the berth and he looked up. Starscream had left a datapad open on the end table within reach. Optimus reached out and snagged it, reading the notification. It was a message posted on a chat room. The Prime scrolled up, trying to make sense of the conversation. 

Star: You have to be here within the decacycle. I need you at my side.  
BSpark: Of course we’ll be there. My mate and I have already packed.  
ToftheD: You can’t abandon your post!  
FreeFlying: The war is over, Skitterpedes. Get used to it. There aren’t any posts to abandon.  
ToftheD: My name is not Skitterpedes!  
GoldenBoy: Shouldn’t you be over adolescent rebellion by now?  
Star: Enough! This opportunity will not come again! I want all of you to come home!  
ToftheD: I have to finish the work Creator assigned me, Carrier. I’m sorry.  
GoldenBoy: You’re such a jerk!  
FreeFlying: Skitterpedes, please. Carrier is right, we have to come home.  
ToftheD: I can’t listen to this. I should have put all of you on the List just for this conversation.  
BSpark: You and your stupid lists. You were born with your lipplates welded to Megatron’s aft!  
ToftheD: He’s our Sire! We owe him respect and loyalty!  
FreeFlying: He abused our Carrier every cycle for four million vorns. I’m over giving him respect. I’m not even going to acknowledge him as my Sire from here on out. Plus, you heard Carrier: He’s been captured. They’re going to try and execute him.  
GoldenBoy: Good riddance.  
BSpark: May he rust in the Pit.  
ToftheD: You can’t say that! I can only give you guys so much leeway before you have to go on the List!  
BSpark: Frag off.  
GoldenBoy: Shove your List up your aft.  
FreeFlying: I hope you choke on it.  
Star: BOYS!   
BSpark: He’s being an aft, Carrier!  
FreeFlying: Sorry, Carrier.  
Star: I know he’s being an aft, and an idiot at that, but he’s still your little brother! And as for you, Skitterpedes, the war is over. Megatron is not wiggling his way out of what I have in store for him. Optimus Prime is breathing down my neck and Cybertron is a misstep away from falling into chaos! I need my sons, and I need them now.  
ToftheD: The war won’t be over until Megatron himself proclaims it so!  
ToftheD has signed off  
BSpark: Carrier, don’t listen to him, he’s just a jerk.  
Star has stepped away from Trillian  
BSpark: Carrier?  
GoldenBoy: Oh, Primus… Carrier, are you crying? Did that jerk make you cry? I’ll kill him!  
FreeFlying: Carrier, please don’t cry! Skitterpedes is just being a jerk! I’ll go get him and make him apologize if you want me too.  
BSpark: Trepan is reading over my shoulder. He says he can’t wait to meet all of you and Skitterpedes is an aft.  
GoldenBoy: Hi, Trepan. How’s the bitlet?  
BSpark: Kicking, apparently.  
FreeFlying: That’s so cute! I can’t wait to see you guys.  
Star has returned to Trillian  
BSpark: Carrier, are you all right?  
GoldenBoy: Skitterpedes will come around, Carrier. I’m sure he will.  
FreeFlying: I’ll go get Skitterpedes and make him come home, Carrier!  
Star: Don’t put yourself in that kind of danger, Freewings. Giltbeacon is right.  
BSpark: Carrier, Trepan says to tell you that your grandsparkling is doing great!  
Star: That’s great, Trepan. I’ve set up a crib in the temporary quarters I’ve arranged.   
BSpark: He says thank you.  
FreeFlying: I have to go if I want to arrive on Cybertron tomorrow, Carrier. I love you!  
Star: I love you too, Freewings.   
FreeFlying has signed off  
GoldenBoy: I’m already in the system. I’m just waiting for the edict to go into effect.  
BSpark: Trepan and I are in transit. We’re going to pass through Skitterpedes part of space. Are you sure you don’t want us to go get him, Carrier?  
Star: You can’t force him to take the oath and cast off his badge and I would rather never see Skitterpedes again than see him on trial.   
BSpark: Understood. See you tomorrow, Carrier.  
BSpark has signed off  
GoldenBoy: I’m going to go for a fly. I love you, Carrier.  
GoldenBoy has signed off  
Star: I love you all too.

That conversation was from before Optimus had arrived the previous evening. Then, just a minute ago:  
ToftheD has signed on  
ToftheD: Carrier, is it true? You’re bonding with Optimus Prime? How could you! The List isn’t good enough for that kind of treachery! I am not returning to this. Megatron will deal severely with you and everyone else when he hears about this. I never thought I would have to do this. There was a time I respected your determination, even if you drove Megatron to distraction, but this is too far! You are no longer my Carrier in any shape or form! I am putting you on the List at the highest priority, and should I ever have an opportunity, I will deal with you as severely as I would any other traitor!  
ToftheD has signed off

Optimus read the angry message, locked the screen, and set the datapad back down on the end table. Starscream had stopped humming and his pedesteps were tapping on the floor.

“Good morning.” The Seeker cast a glance out the window at a sky that was still almost completely dark. He must have been up for at least a klickcycle: His armor had been polished and his faceplates made up. “There isn’t a lot of time. If you’re going to polish up, do it now.” He grabbed the datapad from off of the end table and Optimus couldn’t help but watch him carefully as he input his password. There was a moment of disbelief, then shock, then the datapad shattered into a thousand pieces as it was crushed in the Seeker’s servo. Starscream’s shoulders shook for a long moment of contained grief and he forced himself back to composure.

“What was that?” Optimus questioned, trying to act innocent. 

“None of your business.” The Seeker’s voice was high and tight. “I’m going to get some energon. Do you want anything?”

“Anything’s good.” Optimus pulled out a tin of his own rarely-used polish and began applying. This was definitely an occasion for it. 

Starscream’s wings were held too stiffly as he stalked out. Optimus hoped he could hold it together until after the announcement. 

It bothered him that the four mechs on the IM had called Starscream “Carrier” and Megatron “Sire.” It was a blatant contradiction of the Seeker’s drunken confession. Of course, he had never really trusted Starscream, but he had been inclined to believe the Seeker when he was that over-charged. That Starscream had the presence of processor to lie while falling-over drunk was disturbing. 

The identities of the mechs were a secondary concern. One of them – ToftheD – was clearly Tarn, in spite of how “Freewings” had called him “Skitterpedes.” Who else kept a list of traitors and was obsessed with pleasing Megatron, enough to disown his own Carrier?

The edict made sense now. Starscream didn’t care if it was an unpopular move or if Optimus gave it or not. He would likely announce it even if Optimus didn’t and damn the consequences. It was the action of a Carrier, trying to bring his sparklings home safe. Knowing that, Optimus felt a bit better about all of this mess. Starscream had a spark under all of the armor: It was just well hidden.

“Morning, darling.” Starscream drawled from the couch, optics on the barely-lit horizon.

“Morning, Starscream.” Optimus shot him an appraising look. He seemed fine. His wings were relaxed and his optics far away. Of course, he would be fine. 

“…I know you saw the message.” Starscream swirled his cube. “You’re not going to ask?”

“It’s not really my business.” Optimus sat down opposite him with his own cube. “And it’s not really a subject we should go through right now. We have an announcement to make in a few minutes.”

“You’re right. It’s not your business. But it does concern you.” Starscream stood up and faced him. “I need you to announce that edict. I’ll do it myself, if I have to, but without some kind of reassurance from you, it’s likely going to send the city into chaos. We can’t afford that.”

Optimus finished his cube and stood up, taking Starscream’s servos. He was barely tall enough that the Prime could rest their forehelms together. “You’re a Carrier trying to protect your sparklings. If you had just said that from the start, I would never have refused you.” For the first time, he felt some kind of connection with the Seeker.

Starscream smirked slightly. “You might not think that when you meet them.”

“Maybe not.” Optimus admitted. They were Megatron’s sons and Starscream’s. They had to have too many issues to count and very few morals to boot. But they were still someone’s sparklings and they were coming home to lay down their badges for a second chance. “But the least I can do is give them a chance.”

“They’re going to threaten you within an inch of your life.” Starscream warned him, teasing.

“Bring it on.” Optimus chuckled softly, touching the Seeker’s cheek with a gentle servo. “I’m sorry that Tarn won’t be returning.”

“No, you’re not.” Starscream scoffed. “Tarn – Skitterpedes – is my problem child, and he’s too much like his Sire. I could never control him when he was a sparkling and I have no influence over him now.”

“Still, it’s sad that he’s pushed you out of his life. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling.”

“Right now? Annoyed. We have to get down to the ground floor. We’re going to be late to our own announcement.” Starscream extricated himself from the Prime’s grasp and called the lift. “Just leave the cubes. You can put them in the washer when we get back.”


	6. An Announcement

It seemed like all of Iacon had turned out for the press conference. There were whispers as soon as Starscream and Optimus stepped out and everyone saw the bloom of frost and blood at Starscream’s neck cables. He tilted his head to show off the necklace for the cameras, one arm carefully posed around Optimus’s, servos twined together.

Optimus caught sight of Blurr and Jazz, near the back, watching. Circuit, the news anchor, was facing into the camera her partner had mounted on his shoulder, probably talking up a storm. Afterwards, there was a celebration at Blurr’s bar planned, a sort of reception. The mechs who made up Starscream’s fledgling government were invited as were all of the remaining Seekers. It was a private party, a sort of pre-cursor to their bonding ceremony, which would have to be public by necessity. The largest event in Cybertronian history… Okay, that was an exaggeration, but it was still important. 

Optimus stopped just shy of the podium. He had some idea of what he was going to say, of course. He almost never prepared a speech ahead of time. Usually, the words he needed came to his glossa when he was ready to give them. 

Meanwhile, Starscream stepped up to the podium to begin his speech. “My fellow Cybertronians, thank you for gathering today, at this early hour. There have been many rumors circulating over this past chord and today I would like to put any speculation to rest. In the interest of promoting good relations – and for various personal reasons that would not be appropriate to mention – “ That little quip got a laugh from a few mechs. “The Prime and I have entered into a relationship…”

Optimus couldn’t help but tune him out, it was mostly just gabble about fostering brotherhood and equality, peace between factions. Some of it was clearly leading up to Optimus announcing the edict of pardon, most of it just sounded like talk. The crowd was much more interesting. 

There was a flash of pink on top of a nearby building. Arcee, perhaps? Watching the announcement, reporting to Prowl? No point really. Circuit’s presence ensured that the whole thing was being broadcast. Perhaps Prowl thought he was being blackmailed. 

…It had been an oversight not to contact Prowl and Bumblebee directly, explain what he was doing. An oversight that would need to be corrected as soon as possible. Half of what tied Starscream to the Prime was fear of assassination. If Prowl – being his usual, clever self – blundered in trying to rescue Prime, that would put the lie to his opening gambit. Starscream would pick up on that in a jif and the tables would turn. Then there were Starscream’s sons who would be joining them soon, one of whom was Tarn – though he wasn’t going to be there – and the other three who were unknown.

Speaking of three unknowns… there were three mechs hovering in the back of the crowd, robed in dark cloaks and hoods. They were absolutely massive, like tanks at least. When he focused on them, though, they melted back into the shadows of an alley and were lost. Perhaps they were Decepticons or Autobots who had snuck into the city… But that didn’t make sense. Why would they come unless they knew about the edict… Those had to be Starscream’s sons, then. 

Why were they sneaking about? Optimus had been here, tolerated, for quite a while, without taking an oath or making himself vulnerable yet. They had to be infamous if they weren’t willing to show their faceplates and come in normally. 

Suddenly, Optimus realized that Starscream was cueing him. He had been distracted. The Seeker’s smile was fixed as the cameras focused on them. “Optimus, would you like to say a few words?” He hissed, his optics laser-focused and intense. 

Optimus cleared his vocalizer and stepped up to the podium. “...Yes, thank you, Starscream.” He didn’t fumble, just rested his servos on the lectern. “At the beginning of the war, I never imagined it would turn out this way. I believed, like most Autobots, that the war would be much shorter: That we could negotiate an understanding with Megatron and the Decepticons, or, failing that, that we would be able to defeat them. Well, you know what they say, if you want to make Primus laugh, tell him your plans.

“Most of you here today saw the futility of the war before the rest of us did. Most of you left Cybertron, left factions, family, friends, and home… Trying to find a future away from a planet that had become strange to you. I don’t blame you. If I had known then, what I do now, then I might have joined you in leaving-“ There was a gasp of shock, a sharp intake of multiple vents. “- but I was young, and I thought I could fix the world with sheer force. It took me a long, long time to learn that I could not.

“I never thought I would find a Decepticon pleasant, and let’s be honest, Starscream, you aren’t always.” Starscream mocked an offended look and some of the mechs in the audience laughed. “But what Starscream is, is determined, hard-working, and intelligent. It’s easy to see why Megatron made him his second in command, and it’s easier to see why he should be leading Cybertron now.

“During the war, there was a joke going around the ranks that of all of Megatron’s officers, Starscream was the only one whose special ability wasn’t related to combat. It was… rather lewd and I will not repeat it. But it was wrong. Starscream’s special ability is not only more useful and effective than any other, but it serves him equally well on and off the field. Starscream is flexible, and can adapt to a variety of situations. He can also push aside his own emotions and loyalties, to do what needs to be done. Many mechs say that this makes him two-faced, treacherous, and untrustworthy.”

“Such flattery.” Starscream interjected with a smirk.

“And… They’re not wrong. But they aren’t right either. Starscream is not bound by blind loyalty to ideals and he is not made a fool by the empty words of so-called leaders. He is grounded in reality. He sees a problem, and he solves it. Sometimes, his solutions don’t work the first time, and they don’t work the thirtieth time, but he doesn’t give up.” With a glance towards heaven, Optimus continued, “Oh, no, he never, ever gives up. When one solution doesn’t work, it doesn’t discourage him. It just drives him to try again, and again, until he does find a solution that works. 

“There are going to be challenges ahead. Anyone who tries something new is going to have challenges. It’s part of life. And what we’re trying to do here, this is certainly something new. Personally, I’ve had enough of ideals setting us up against each other, and partisan loyalties dividing society up into those who wear a red face, and those who wear a purple one. I can’t think of anyone more suited to lead Cybertron now, than someone who values solutions over traditions.” Optimus took a deep in-vent. “And I am… Grateful, and proud, that he would consider someone like me worthy of becoming his mate.”

There was a cheer from the crowd and raucous applause. But Optimus wasn’t done. There was a promise to be kept. The Prime held up one servo for quiet. “…Thank you. For your applause, but I am not done.” 

Starscream became slightly more tense, more attentive behind him. This was the moment of truth. Optimus knew this edict could become a weapon. It could be turned against Starscream, against the fragile foundation of his government, against everything he was trying to build. Knowing who the edict was intended to protect – three mechs who would surely be infamous and their youngest brother who was certainly infamous – the only thing he could do was minimize the damage, keep the fire away from Starscream’s wings. 

“In the interests of unity, and of closing those partisan divides that keep us separate, I have convinced Starscream to allow an edict of complete pardon, for all past crimes, for any Autobot or Decepticon who gives up their badge, sets down their weapons, and re-joins society here. For a vorn’s time, regardless of rank and faction, any who come into Iacon will receive a full pardon and be allowed the full rights of citizens. The details are contained in the edict itself, a copy of which has been sent to Circuit for circulation.”

There was a long moment of silence and Optimus stepped away from the podium and inside the spire, leaving Starscream to finish the press conference alone. His fuel pump was pounding in his audials. In a few words, he had just undermined any hope of another mech undercutting Starscream and had thrown himself fully behind the Seeker. From one stand-point, he had set himself in a favorable position. With Starscream solidly in place, he would become a much more effective leader. More mechs would listen to him and take him seriously. Therefore, Optimus, who had ensured he would have influence over Starscream, would be in a favorable position as well. But it made it so much more messy because he realized his words were true. For this transition period, for a time of confusion and trial, Starscream was exactly the mech they needed. He wasn’t bound by partisan loyalty and he would do whatever it takes to make sure Iacon survived – even if it killed him slowly. He hadn’t intended that to happen. Hadn’t thought it would. 

But it made it so much more messy… Because Optimus was almost certain that he had just ensured that it would take an assassination to remove Starscream from power when his time was over, when the transition was finished and it was time for someone else to rule. 

Starscream would probably think that fitting, to be killed when he had nothing left to contribute, but it turned in Optimus’s tanks and roiled in his processor. His system was rebelling against the idea. 

“Nice speech, boss.” Rattrap’s silky voice was a welcome distraction. “Made yourself seem like yah meant it.”

“And who’s to say I didn’t mean it?” Optimus didn’t care for Rattrap at all. There was something slimy about the little mech.

“I may be just a rat, but I do have ears, boss. Don’t worry, I won’t let Starscream suspect.” Rattrap made a hissing noise through his denteas. “We all have our parts to play.”

Optimus shuddered slightly as Rattrap transformed into his beast mode and skittered into a vent. The idea that Rattrap might know his darkest thoughts was not a comfortable one. The Prime felt exposed sitting in the downstairs lobby and summoned the lift. By the time Starscream got away from the press gaggle, he had mixed himself an inferior version of Blurr’s Two-Faced Seeker and was drinking it on the couch.

Contrary to the drink named for him – cold, hard, and bitter – when Starscream threw himself into the Prime’s arms, he was warm, pliant, and sweet, drawing the scarred Prime’s faceplates to his own for a passionate kiss. “…You great sap.” The Seeker pressed kisses to the hard, knotted lines across his faceplates. “Did you plan to do that?”

“I told the truth.” Optimus spoke with conviction, dropping the remains of his drink on the carpet as he caught Starscream about his cherry-red waist. 

“No, you didn’t. You said the edict was your idea.” Starscream dipped his helm to Optimus’s again as his thighs straddled the Prime’s lap. Optimus wasn’t sure what had brought this on, but given Starscream’s mercurial moods, he wasn’t entirely surprised. 

“So?” Optimus replied, taking advantage of an exposed neck cable to get in a nice, hard nip that made Starscream in-vent almost harshly. “I would have come up with something like that in your position.”

“Oh, frag you, fragger! Can’t I be grateful in peace for once?” Starscream got his denteas on one of Optimus’s aerials. “Come on, you’ve got me so over-charged, I have to have you.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Optimus obliged – he was only a mech – and pulled the warm bundle of Seeker close.

“…I like being acknowledged.” Starscream’s valve was already dripping. It wasn’t going to be a foreplay kind of interface. “It rattles my wings, okay?”

“A praise kink?” Optimus raised on optical ridge. On the one hand, he should have known. 

“Don’t say it like that! It’s not a praise kink!” Starscream replied, sliding the slick folds of his loose valve over the ridges of Optimus’s spike. “It’s an acknowledgment kink. It doesn’t work if I know I don’t deserve praise.” 

“You almost always deserve praise for something.” Optimus replied, pulling the little tease down into his lap, the tip of his spike catching and sinking true into the slick valve above it. 

Starscream squirmed, sending shocks through the Prime. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to overload.”

Optimus’s optics glittered almost wickedly. “Why shouldn’t I tell the truth? You’re gorgeous, Starscream, and you’ve done so well with what little you have… I could talk for hours about the things you’ve accomplished. Sure, you could do better, but you could do worse.”

Starscream gasped as Optimus’s spike found the ceiling node of his valve. “Flatterer!”

“You like it that way.” Optimus began pumping up and down. 

Starscream leaned on Optimus’s shoulders and panted, gasping. There was a click and slide and something warm and open was pressed to Optimus’s windshield. Starscream had opened his spark chamber and a white light was shining between them. Never one to refuse a challenge, Optimus met Starscream with his own.

They didn’t tumble into each other like children or intimates, but they brushed and rubbed, exchanged ideas and emotions. When they overloaded and Starscream’s wings arched almost erect, Optimus saw a few memories he was sure Starscream hadn’t meant to share: Most of them from before the war truly raged, of Megatron and what their relationship had been at the beginning, before everything else. He felt a brief sense of worship for this mech who seemed larger than life… then it faded as Starscream withdrew and sealed his spark back in the silvery, crystal container, deep in his frame. 

“Don’t worry about him.” Starscream finally spoke when they had had a moment to recover. “He’s not in my life anymore. I won’t let him back in.”

“He doesn’t deserve that.” Optimus agreed, petting Starscream’s cockpit gently. 

Starscream sat up. His paint was scratched and his polish rubbed off. “If we’re going to be in time at our own engagement party, we’re going to have to get cleaned up now, or everyone will know what we’re up to.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Optimus hummed, getting to his pedes. “But I don’t want to sit on a couch all day.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t throw your back out.” Starscream shot him a cheeky look over one wing. “You and Megatron both… you’re old mechs now.”

“What does that make you?” Optimus followed him into the washracks. 

“Much younger than you.”

“Not by that much.”

“Have I hurt your pride?” Starscream stepped into the washracks and turned the settings so that the water would be warm and the solvent almost zero. No need to wash off his paint again this decacycle. “Is the Mighty Prime worried about performing for such a young mech?” He teased.

Optimus stepped into the washracks and pushed Starscream into the wall. “I’ll show you who’s worried about performing.”

By the time they had finished getting ready, someone unexpected had arrived. Optimus was just cleaning up the spilled engex on the carpet when he heard the lift chime and straightened up. Three massive, Decepticon frontliners stepped out of the lift. Their names had gone down in history. They were legendary for brutality, cruelty, and for kill counts that reached unfathomable numbers. Megatron’s Warrior’s Elite stepped out into Starscream’s apartment.


	7. I, Overlord

Even before I was born, even before I understood what death was, the very first thing I ever did, was almost kill my Carrier.

In my defense, it wasn’t entirely my fault. My Carrier was a Seeker – and a young one at that. He was too young to Carry safely and I had been implanted through scientific means and nurtured by a mech who didn’t care much for life so much as for science. I was intended to be a war machine, to be massive and strong. I was supposed to be brutal, lethal.

My Carrier was damaged in my birth, he nearly bled out. Before that, he had been unable to fly for decacycles as I grew too heavy for his frame. He couldn’t even walk about properly. I was a miserable burden for almost a vorn – which is far too long. I was kept in his frame past my time, all to ensure I would be as big and strong as possible. I pressed my Carrier’s organs down into his abdomen as I pressed his spark back into his spinal strut. 

Knowing what was done to my Carrier to perfect me, I don’t understand how he lived.

I don’t understand how he still loved me.

But my first memory is his faceplates. My first memory is his arms. I remember him raising me to his neck to lay me there – I was too big for his cockpit – and I remember him kissing me even as medics scrambled to close the myriad wounds I had inflicted on my way out. 

It’s a fuzzy memory – seen through optics just a little too young to be clear. I have hazy memories of being inside Carrier, of being curled up into a ball that felt too tight. But my first, real memory, was Carrier loving me. 

It’s hard to believe now, but at first, I worshipped my Sire. He was everything I wanted to be: Strong, proud, ruthless… And there was a soft side to him that didn’t appear often, but when it did, it was always around Carrier. Sometimes, he would smile at Carrier and it looked almost loving. For a long time, I thought theirs was a perfect relationship. All children think of their Creators that way.

I never felt that kind of approval, that kind of love. I worshipped an unfeeling, distant god of a mech and he accepted my sacrifices as tribute without giving anything back. He was a cutthroat god, a god of pillaging and war. I trained with him and worshipped him in quiet, giving him the best of everything.

When I think of it now, my Carrier had a very thankless task. He raised me almost alone, my Sire was always busy, and whenever I didn’t want to do something, I would throw out my pedes and kick and hit him and I would call him cruel when he had to punish me. Then, I would run into my Sire’s arms and hug and kiss him the moment he got home, and crowd around him, and pester him with my achievements. And Sire would accept my hugs and my kisses, and he would hold me on his lap and tell me to do better and I would always promise to make him proud.

Meanwhile, my Carrier would nurse his wounds and try to teach me to truly love others, and I would ignore his brand of giving love in favor of my Sire’s disinterest. It had to hurt sometimes.

As I grew up, I grew closer to my Carrier. He taught me to sculpt with clay and metals, and showed me how clever digits could make things. He shared all of his secrets and gave all of his love to us – I had brothers by then. He taught me to be subtle in combat and all the ways to hurt a mech, all the ways to make someone speak. 

And, as I grew up, I saw exactly how cruel my Sire was. He hit Carrier while he was with spark with my brothers and he hit us when we went against him. He kicked me in the tanks when I tried to stop him from hitting Carrier. That was the moment that I began to really hate him. I hated him so much that my spark burned with it. But I still wanted his approval, I still wanted his love.

I couldn’t protect Carrier. I never could and my Carrier… He didn’t want to be protected. He wanted to protect us. Our relationship was complicated, but even when I was taller than Sire and almost as broad and my Carrier seemed so very small and fragile to me, even then, I knew he loved me and I loved him back. We would do anything for each other. It was our strength, and our weakness.

I knew Sire threatened us to control Carrier. I knew Carrier tried to mind himself, but he wasn’t meant to be submissive. He would lash out, scream, and cry, and try to make Sire see reason, or to turn the other Decepticons to his side.

My Sire beat him so badly he miscarried two of my little brothers. It happened right in the living room – he staggered in, bruised and dented and bleeding, and collapsed on the carpet. Sixshot – my younger brother – ran to him and refused to leave his side, patting his face and trying to make the bleeding stop. He probably saved Carrier’s life that day. 

I still remember Carrier covering my two little brothers up with a cloth. Sire didn’t let him make memory pendants or name them and I knew it wore on him. If Sire had had his way, I guess he would have worn Carrier down to his struts. 

It wasn’t long after that incident that my last little brother was born, but if I talk about him, I’ll get mad and I have anger control issues. They’re bad enough that Carrier has basically forbidden me from getting angry in public, if that gives any indication. 

In a fit of rebellion, almost right after Tarn was born, Carrier gave us all Seeker names. Mine was Brightspark, for the brilliance of my own, over-sized spark. I inherited that from my Carrier. 

When Tarn – my youngest brother – was about six vorns old, I was given my first mission. I was to rescue Soundwave from the Autobots – at a facility called the New Institute. My Carrier and I went together to fetch the communications officer back. It was one of the few times Megatron let him get away from the base, and I knew he didn’t want to go. It was right after… The Incident. 

We rescued Soundwave just fine. I knew we would. Whenever I was on Carrier’s wing, we were unstoppable. We broke straight into the New Institute and stormed it, stopping Soundwave from being needled. Carrier’s old aeriemate was there. The coward ran like the glitch he was, but one of the other doctors – Trepan – he stayed to fight. 

I’m fascinated by mnemosurgery. I’ve studied psychology from the inside out and I wanted the ability to manipulate minds. As my younger self, I wanted to try and fix Sire. I figured there had to be something off somewhere in his processor and that if I could just learn how, I could fix it, and everything would be okay. Now, I just want to keep learning it for the science, perhaps for the thrill. I kidnapped Trepan from the New Institute looking for a teacher. I had no idea that I’d found my mate. 

It was a long hard road, learning how to be a mnemosurgeon. It all had to be kept extremely secret, but I had Carrier on my side and Soundwave didn’t know about Trepan. If he had known, he’d have gone straight to Megatron and that would have been the end of all of us. 

I had to be injected many, many times as I figured out how to use my processor as a weapon and when it was time for me to start injecting, my only real test subject was Trepan. By then, it was so dangerous for Trepan to continue injecting that he decided to give me his needles. It was sheer luck that Trepan was one of the few mechs still alive who knew how to construct needles. I used Autobot prisoners sometimes, but that wasn’t reliable. Once, my Carrier allowed me to inject him… For reasons I won’t go into. Suffice to say that there was something he would rather forget. But I didn’t risk my Carrier’s processor with my early fumblings. 

The funny thing about knowing someone – really knowing them – is that it makes you understand them. And when you understand someone and what’s going on in their heads, in their spark, you begin to realize that you can’t help but love them. 

Carrier wasn’t happy at first. He thought I was rushing into something with a mech much older than I was, but I knew Trepan inside and out by then. I knew this was the mech I wanted to spend the rest of my life with as certainly as I knew that Sire would never approve. Eventually, he relented and agreed to make us a wedding dinner. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but Carrier had instilled a respect for Vosnian culture into all of us. 

My brothers were too young to understand and Tarn couldn’t be trusted to keep a secret. So, at five thousand vorns old, I bonded with the love of my life. 

It was really inevitable that my Sire would find out. I knew that. Carrier knew that. Trepan knew that. So, we had a plan. I was going to build myself a strong hold on one of the worlds the Decepticons had “conquered” but left alone for various reasons – not a strong enough sun to support a large population, too little room, no resources, etc. – and I chose Garrus 9. It was a former Autobot prison, plenty of subjects to practice on, plenty of people to “play” with.

I never claimed not to be fragged up. 

Carrier helped me get Trepan out in secret to Garrus 9. But it was almost too late. Creator had my quarters searched by Deadlock – one of Carrier’s students, and someone who had no more love for mnemosurgeons than Sire did. The near miss kept me up for many nights afterwards. 

Carrier… was punished severely for his help in Trepan’s escape. Sire couldn’t prove anything, and I hid Trepan well on Garrus 9. But since when did proof matter to Sire? To him, harboring a mnemosurgeon – especially one as infamous as Trepan – was the highest treason. That… his punishment… That was the memory I erased from Carrier’s processor. It was not something I did lightly: Tampering with a processor leaves scars and Starscream had had his own run-ins with Mnemosurgery in the past. But I did it… because the option was watching my Carrier descend into madness. 

That is who my Sire is. He would torture his own mechs – his own mate – until their processors broke. I do not want to become my Sire, but sometimes I see no choice. As terrible as he is, he is my Sire, and the sins of the Creator often haunt the sparklings.

I never considered joining the Autobots or leaving entirely and becoming a neutral. I knew, if I did that, that I would be leaving my Carrier behind. That was something I just couldn’t bear. Not to mention that, by then, I had become too infamous. I couldn’t leave the Decepticons, even if I wanted to. When the war ended, when the Autobots won, I thought that would be the end of our family. My brothers and I were off-world, but Carrier stood at Sire’s side right to the end. Any love between them had turned to hatred, but my Carrier stayed loyal. He stayed with Sire. Sire… couldn’t see that. 

I have heard that Carrier left him at last, that he finally quit his side. After everything Sire did to him, it was a long time in coming. But Carrier wasn’t free. He was captured – by Autobots – and locked up with the remaining Decepticons. It was only through his own quick wits that he ascended to his rightful place, ruler – leader – of all that remains of civilization on Cybertron. 

It was Sire’s blindness that made him lose, and I was glad when I heard he was dead, killed in the wilderness of a revived Cybertron. Hearing that he was still alive was hard. I am beginning to believe that if I want Carrier to be safe, if I want all of those I love to be safe, I will have to kill my Sire myself. 

…I wish I had had the strength to do what needed to be done earlier. 

I am Overlord. First son of Starscream. Scourge of Garrus 9. First of the Warrior’s Elite. Mate of Trepan. And I as I watch the sun rise over Iacon, I realize that I am ready for a fresh start.


	8. I, Black Shadow

When I was little, I was fat. I was a round, little butterball of a mech with a rounded paunch. Back then, I hoarded up sweets and gobbled down energon like no one’s business. I was always the greedy one, stripping the cream off of life until it ran clear like water. I hoarded everything, shiny rocks, pins, buttons, bits of junk… everything had value to someone and I used my sense of value to get what I wanted, which was usually sweets.

I blush to think of what I was like back then. But there were moments that I look at and remember fondly. Like the time I set up a huge trading chain all around the ship to get my Carrier some silver treats with copper shavings – his favorite. First, I had to trade Overlord for one of his crystal sculptures – he was not happy to part with it, I had to give him six of my shiniest rocks. Then, I had to take the sculpture to Skywarp and trade it for some of his illicit High Grade. I had to swear on my spark not to drink any. Then, I took the High Grade to Astrotrain and traded it for an antique blaster. Then, I took the blaster to Soundwave and traded it for a datapad with a data mining program. Then, the datapad went to Swindle, who finally sold me the treats. 

…Carrier let me eat half of them in the end, but I remember his smile. 

Sire didn’t like that Carrier let me have so much energon and so many sweets. He said I was too fat, that I needed to focus on exercising and less on eating. Carrier shielded me from Sire’s scrutiny. It was just puppy armor, I would grow into it. And I did, not as big as Overlord or as elegant as Sixshot, but I like to think of myself as beautiful in my own way, and all the extra armor padding is really useful on the battlefield. I make a big target.

Sire trained me more brutally than he did my brothers. I always had bruises when I was a child. Carrier would fuss over them, give me treats to help take the pain away, and guard me. I can’t say I would give my life for him… But I do owe him it. There was a time Sire locked me up – no energon, no treats. He was trying to get me to lose weight. I thought I would starve. 

Carrier fed me. It was… Not the most dignified thing that has ever happened to me. Carrier couldn’t afford to be caught bringing me a cube of energon or treats, so… he had to give me energon from his lines, like an infant. It kept me alive and I kept my weight, even gained a few kilos. Finally, Sire gave up and I was allowed to rejoin my brothers. I hit my growth spurt almost directly after that and he… calmed down slightly. There were certainly fewer comments.

Creators shouldn’t degrade their sparklings like that…

Maybe that was why I started hurting myself. At first, it was small things: I would jump off of something too high for me and land on my aft, or touch the warmer when it was hot. Carrier thought I was just clumsy and needed to be more mindful. That was before he found the cuts under my abdominal plating. 

I spent a long time not allowed to touch anything sharp, or glass, or to be in the armory without someone. 

I still remember the fight Carrier had with Sire the night after he had discovered my cuts. I remember the way he screamed at Sire and Overlord and Sixshot cowering with me, hidden away in one of our bedrooms. I remember how dented Carrier’s faceplates were for a week afterwards, and I remember how Sire’s comments stopped for awhile. 

I remember Carrier took care to hug me… a lot more than usual. 

I began cooking with Carrier when I was little. I liked putting special things together, when we had the ingredients and time. Most of the time, Carrier just tried to put a little zing into our energon rations. Sometimes, we had something genuinely special and Carrier would have me watch as he carefully put something spectacular better. I think… I think he was bored and tired, when we were sparklings, and Sire wouldn’t let him go on any missions or lead his Seekers. Art, culinary or otherwise, was an outlet, as was science. 

He taught me to haggle and barter, making sure I knew all the subtleties of frame language. Carrier… Carrier made me who I am, and with Sire being so cruel all the time, I didn’t feel the same attraction to him that Overlord did. I didn’t worship Sire. I just wished he would leave me alone. He made me hate myself, because I knew he wasn’t and never would be proud of me. There was nothing I could do that would please him. 

Oddly enough, I do enjoy dancing. Any kind of dancing. I like to bounce and jiggle and I like to make my Carrier laugh with silly little dances. I’ve even tried – and enjoyed – pole dancing, though I could never tell Carrier that. He would be appalled. Carrier had to pole dance when he was a young mech in Iacon, before the war, just to survive, and he hated it, hated the way mechs treated him. I’ve never pole-danced for an audience and I probably never will, but when it’s just me and a studio… I have a pole I like to set up and spin and feel lighter than air. I feel truly beautiful when I’m in my processor-space.

I won’t lie. I’m a big mech. I don’t have my Carrier’s curves, or my Sire’s brutal structure. My hips are big and round and I don’t have a waist. But I get what I want form life. I know what others want, and I find a way to get them what they want. It’s why Swindle and I always had an understanding. 

Swindle has to be enjoying this new, peaceful world. So many more mechs to, well, swindle. I’m going to find him first when I get there. Right after I see Carrier and this new mech. I don’t trust the Prime as far as I can throw him, and I get the feeling I could throw him pretty far if I tried. If he hurts Carrier… He’s not going to live long. I don’t care if Carrier would have to imprison me for it. I haven’t lived this long being protected by him not to give it back when the time comes.

But I’m not just going to protect Carrier. I’m going to show everyone that big mechs are beautiful, useful, and that we can be what we want to be. I’m not going to let Sire shape my destiny. He can rot in the Pit as far as I care. I’m going to spend my new life dancing and cooking exotic dishes and I’m going to find a way to make my Carrier smile – maybe get him to put on a few pounds himself. Ever since I reached my full height, I always thought he was too skinny.

I am Black Shadow - Giltbeacon. Second son of Starscream, and as I sidle through Iacon’s streets, looking for a place for my restaurant, I know this is going to be the start of a better life for me.


	9. I, Sixshot

I never worshipped my Sire the way my brothers did. I was always my Carrier’s child.

Maybe I always had more of Carrier. Maybe the parts of me that were like Sire were ripped out of me. Either way, I was – am – softer than my brothers. I don’t mind being called that. Being soft is better than being hard. 

I came faceplate to faceplate with that reality when I was very little. Before I could understand what my Sire did or why my Carrier put up with it. It was a terrible, terrible day, and one that haunts me more than anything else I’ve seen in my time. It was the first time I was exposed to the reality of death, and the first time I tried to save Carrier. 

Sire was angry about something… I don’t even remember what it was, it wasn’t important, and he beat our Carrier – badly. He always beat Carrier, but never like this before. I don’t know why he didn’t go to the med bay. Maybe he thought he was dying. Maybe he wanted to see us one last time. Either way, it was to our apartment that he came, swaying like a reed.

Sire had beaten him half to death… While he was Carrying what should have been my twin brothers. 

I always thought Carrier was slim and elegant and beautiful. I wanted to grow up exactly like him, but Shockwave’s genetic manipulations made that impossible. But I never thought of my Carrier as vulnerable. I never thought he could be hurt before. But here he was, bleeding from his optics and nasal vent, vents heaving, and unable to stand. He collapsed to the carpet in front of where I was playing with my toy vehicles. He reached for me, and I went to him. I called to him, begged him to get up, and patted and smacked at his faceplates, trying to keep him awake.

I knew something had to be horribly wrong when his spark chamber began to open. His cockpit pushed itself aside and the cracked glass shattered. I could see my brothers, where they were trying to emerge. Seekers… we Carry more easily and we give birth nearly painlessly, but there’s a trade-off. In the rare event that there is a miscarriage, the sparklings don’t separate neatly from our frames, like Grounder Sparklings. Maybe it’s something to do with our Carrier coding, but we clutch them, even when all hope is lost. 

I didn’t understand. I had known, we all had, that Carrier was with spark. He had been telling us all about the little brothers we would have and how we would have to play with them gently. But I didn’t understand. It didn’t register that these things that Carrier’s frame were straining to get out, these grey lumps with their too-large heads and too-large optics, that these were supposed to be my brothers. 

I had had a run-in with space leeches down in the brig. The sticky things had bit me all over and I ran to Carrier to get them off. Carrier preened his sharp claws beneath each leech and pulled until it popped. They stretched out to three times their length and left little rivulets of energon where they had been. Then, he sent Skywarp and Thundercracker to take care of the leech problem. I don’t know what we had for dinner that night, but it was delicious – I nearly ate myself sick.

(And no one ever mentioned the leeches again.)

I reached into my Carrier’s frame and I found a place to grip on these grey, bulbous leeches, whose dead frames were sapping my Carrier’s strength, and I pulled. I pulled them until they popped, until they were strewn out on the carpet and my Carrier’s chambers began to close. It was only then that I got a good look at what I had just pulled from my Carrier’s frame and realized what they were.

I was covered in energon. It was all over my servos, all over my chassis. I was stained, tarnished. My Carrier reached out for me and I flinched away. “…It’s… Sixshot… It’s not your fault, Freewings.” He gripped my knee. “It’s not your fault…”

I collapsed over his frame as the medic – Flatline – came in. Carrier survived by the skin of his denteas, but I would be haunted forever. I think it was then that I first decided that Carrier needed a dragon – a protector. I trained with a kind of single-processored determination. I gave up my hobbies, put away my paints, and threw myself into becoming the strongest dragon I could be. 

And I began to lose myself. I was mean and nasty to everyone – even Carrier. I was angry at the world, hurt and frustrated. I would shout at Carrier when I came home from training to find him with a cracked optic or a dent. I hated him for letting Sire do this to him. At the time, I don’t think I understood just how trapped Carrier was. 

Carrier couldn’t control me. If he tried, I would rebel. He couldn’t understand! Everything was so unfair, I was just trying to protect him, trying to keep him safe. Overlord seemed to realize what I was trying to do, but even he thought I was going too far.

I bullied Black Shadow – Giltbeacon – relentlessly. My greedy older brother was always getting Carrier into trouble! Every time I saw him eating sweets, I would at least yell at him. I was trying to make him stop over-fueling so Megatron would stop getting after Carrier because of it. I didn’t realize that Black Shadow’s sweet habits were just one of many excuses Sire would use to justify abusing Carrier. Black Shadow could have been thin as a rail and Megatron would still slap Carrier around – probably because his son wasn’t eating properly and needed to get some armor on his bones. 

One day, I snapped. I saw Black Shadow, sitting in the kitchen, eating his way through a box of sweets. It was a box I knew he had traded for for Carrier, but there he was: Eating half of them! I threw myself into him and beat the stuffing out of him. It was only when Carrier dragged me off, kicking and screaming, that I stopped. 

Carrier locked me in my room and that night, I heard Carrier and Sire talking about me. “…I can’t control him, Megatron! You have to help me!”

“What’s he done now?” Sire was always disinterested.

“He beat Black Shadow black and pink! You have to talk to him: He’s out of control! He could have killed Black Shadow!”

“What was Black Shadow doing?”

“He was just in the kitchen… what does it matter?! Speak to your son!”

“Guzzling himself on sweets, no doubt. The little hog got what he deserved, Starscream. It seems you’ve at least given me one son that I can be proud of.” And I could hear Sire walking away.

“…Yes, Megatron… I have given you a son… he’s just like you.” Carrier muttered despairingly. 

That struck me to the quick. For all of my violence, I had never wanted to be like Sire. All I wanted was to be strong, so I could protect Carrier. I looked at myself in the mirror above my desk and saw my Sire’s faceplates glaring out at me, his hot, red optics. I had become my Sire. I had become his exact twin.

…I didn’t come out of my room for days. Carrier had unlocked the door in the morning and brought me my meals, but we didn’t speak to each other. I was having an epiphany. 

One day, I dug out my paints. They had been a gift from Carrier, when Carrier was happy and I was his sweet, baby mechling. My servos trembled, I had lost a lot of skill, but I still knew color. I could remember roses. I remembered soft things. I tried to make the painting the softest, prettiest thing I could. I tried to be the opposite of my Sire as I smeared paint with my brush. The dark reds ran together with the white and became pinks, the edges blurred. My brushstrokes were uneven smears. It was, by far, the worst thing I had ever created. 

Carrier was in his office, working on something, when I carried in the painting. “…Carrier?”

“What is it, Sixshot?” Carrier turned his helm, spectacles gleaming at me. “…You painted something?”

I nodded, holding out the rose I had painted. Wittingly or unwittingly, I had made a picture of the rose that humans call “peace” and I offered it to my Carrier in the only gesture I could. 

“It’s beautiful, Sixshot.” Carrier smiled at me and held out his arms. I leapt into them.

“I’m sorry, Carrier.” I whimpered. “I can’t be your dragon.”

“Little one.” Carrier kissed my helm. “You will always be my dragon.” I didn’t understand then, all I could see was my failure. 

Sometimes, when you fall, you have to pick yourself up alone. And climbing back into the sky with clipped wings isn’t easy. But Carrier still loved me, and I made up with Black Shadow. It took time, but we became a family again and I went back to painting instead of fighting. Sire wasn’t happy, but Sire never was. I don’t think he ever will be. Of course, I still had to train, and I still had to train hard, but I didn’t let it consume me anymore. And my Carrier… My Carrier still smiled whenever I brought him a painting. It was hard, winning back my skill, but I had a good teacher and a patient critic. 

When Tarn was born, I promised myself that I would keep him from becoming a dragon as well. But maybe… Maybe Tarn was doomed from the start: A miniature Sire, wandering around in dark, purple plating and with pedes too big for his frame. Maybe the Sins of our Sire will haunt us forever. But I won’t let that make me into something I’m not. Never again. 

When I heard the call to come home, when the war ended, when Carrier rose to the throne, I knew it was the start of something new. Maybe, it’s a way to end this cycle. To stop others from walking the path to destruction that I did. Maybe it’s a step towards real peace. All I know is that we’re going to be a family again. That I’m going to see my brothers, even if Tarn is lost to us.

Maybe we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes – Sparkling after Creator, for forever and ever, but I won’t make the mistakes my Sire did, or repeat Carrier’s. I won’t let myself be trapped into becoming an angry dragon, and I won’t let myself be a caged bird either. It’s a new day, for me, for all of us, and I intend to see it come to fruition. Being a galaxy famous artist… it has a nice ring to it. 

I am Sixshot. Third son of Starscream. Painter of Emotion. The Dragon.


	10. An Introduction

Optimus gaped as the three, badgeless Warrior’s Elite took in the apartment and him. “What are you doing here?”

“Coming in to swear an oath and officially cast off Decepticonism.” Overlord replied calmly. Now that Optimus had somewhat recovered from the shock of seeing them, he noticed the slim mech with his servo folded in Overlord’s. His lower abdomen was bulging slightly, swollen with a sparkling. So, this must be Trepan. Why was that designation familiar?

“Don’t be obtuse, Brightspark. Knowing Carrier, he doesn’t know who we are.” Sixshot came forward and took his servo, shaking it. “I’m Freewings – but you can call me Sixshot. Most mechs do. This is Brightspark – Overlord – and Giltbeacon – Black Shadow.”

Black Shadow was a slightly heavy-set mech with black armor and golden highlights. “Hello.” He waved. There was a heavy satchel over one of his shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought my luggage. Carrier said we would be staying here for a while until we can settle in.”

“It’s no problem…” Optimus’s processor had gone blank. Everything was falling into place. Starscream had assembled a carte blanche for his sons who were some of the most infamous Decepticons ever to live. He had needed Optimus to put it into place because if anyone else – including himself – had tried, this would have caused a rebellion. Pit, it still might. 

Starscream came out of the bathroom, primping. “Hello, boys.” He smiled. “How are you?!”

“Carrier!” Sixshot rushed over and scooped him up. “You look great. Being engaged suits you.”

“You know what they say, it’s all about finding the right mech.” Starscream hugged his son around the neck. “And you, little Dragon? Seeing anyone?”

“Not yet. Still looking.” Sixshot set his Carrier back down. “I brought my paints, but I had to leave the shuttle outside the city. Don’t worry: I locked it.”

“Did you leave the key on the trunk?”

Sixshot pulled out a keyring with a paintbrush dangling from it. “I have it right here.”

“Good. That habit will get your ship stolen some day.” Starscream kissed his cheek. “Trepan, it’s been a long time.”

“Starscream, so good to see you. It’s good to be home. I had hoped the sparkling would emerge on Cybertron.” Trepan nodded to his Carrier-in-Law.

“Carrier.” Overlord hugged him. “How are you?”

“Tired, Overlord, but the day’s not over yet. We need to get over to Blurr’s bar for the reception.” Starscream sighed. 

“I’d rather stay home, if you don’t mind.” Trepan commented. “Overlord, I can unpack while you and your brothers have fun.”

“You don’t mind?” Overlord questioned his mate.

“Of course not. It’s not like I can drink anyway, with the sparkling coming.” Trepan replied.

“Wait!” Optimus held up two servos, processor kicking into over drive as he imagined the reaction to the Warrior’s Elite walking into Blurr’s bar. “You can’t – There would be a panic!”

“The edict you put into affect this morning allows all of us pardon and to go where we please.” Black Shadow pointed out stubbornly. 

“Yes, but think about this!” Optimus replied. “None of the other mechs in Cybertron know you’re here yet. If you just walk into Blurr’s bar, they’ll panic and everything will slingshot back around to Starscream and I. For all our sakes, you have to lie low for awhile.”

“We’ve been away from home for Millions of years. You can’t ask us not to enjoy being here!” Sixshot put his servos on his hips, narrowing his optics at Optimus. “What did we come all this way for if it was going to be like this?”

“I’m not saying don’t go anywhere at all, just don’t announce your presence to the whole world, at Blurr’s bar, tonight. Think about it! If the Neutrals recognize you – and the former Factioned certainly will – there will be a panic. You have to give them time to get used to the idea first. I recommend that you walk around, acting like normal mechs and trying not to draw attention to yourself. Certainly don’t introduce yourself as Starscream and Megatron’s sparklings right off the bat. Starscream, you have to realize this is a bad idea.”

Starscream – who had been standing off to the sidelines during the argument, folded his arms. “I hate to say it. I agree with Optimus Prime. We do have to proceed carefully.”

“Aww…” Sixshot sighed.

“Cheer up, Freewings.” Black Shadow punched his arm gently. “Let’s go back out of the city and bring the rest of our luggage in. I saw some wild Fireberries on our way here. I can make you some Fireberry cocktails while we wait.”

“I do like your Fireberry cocktails.” Sixshot agreed, grudgingly. “Can we at least have a pass or something that says we belong here? It would be easier than sneaking past the guards.”

“Of course.” Starscream pulled out a datapad and printed out four chips. “Here you go. These should get you everywhere.”

“Thanks, Carrier.” Overlord looked down at Trepan. “Do you want to buy some rust sticks?”

“Let me do it.” Black Shadow told them. “I can deal with Swindle.”

Starscream clicked his digits sharply, making Optimus jump. The impatient Seeker was waiting in the lift, one pede tapping. Optimus realized that he had been staring at the surreal sight of three of the most feared Decepticons chatting and talking about gathering wild berries. The Prime hurried into the lift beside Starscream and the doors closed.

“I know my sons are handsome, but they don’t warrant that level of staring.” Starscream told him with a smirk. Optimus sputtered and the Seeker laughed. “I was kidding!”

“You have to admit, it’s surprising. The last thing I expected today was to face the Warrior’s Elite.” Optimus reminded the teasing Seeker. 

“You should always expect the unexpected with me. I like to keep mechs on their pedes.” Starscream was thoroughly unrepentant and very, very sparkly. He had polished up and painted over any little marks from their interfacing. If anything, he looked even better than he had at their announcement. 

“I need to dig out some surprises of my own if you’re going to use these surprises.” Optimus was quiet for a long moment. “I suppose you wanted them to come home so much because you need bodyguards? I must admit, I didn’t expect that.”

“What are you talking about?” Starscream gave him a side-eyed look. 

“Well, you wouldn’t be afraid of assassination with someone like Overlord on your back.” Optimus replied.

“My sons are here because they deserve to enjoy peace like everyone else.” Starscream snapped. “…This is your way of wondering where our bargain stands.”

“…It is.” Optimus admitted. “So, where does it stand?”

“I can’t believe I let you at my spark.” Starscream folded his arms and huffed, wings snapping.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well right now it’s on thin ice!” Starscream snapped at him. “But before you brought this topic up and made it into a spike-measuring contest, it was as solid as ever! If I was going to dump you, I would have done it before there was an announcement.”

Optimus fell silent, studying the Seeker’s frame. He was hunched inwards, his wings stiff and angry, arms folded across his cockpit. He was genuinely slagged off at the Prime as far as he could tell. But, of course, as soon as the lift hit the ground floor, he wrapped himself around one of Prime’s arms and plastered on a mask of a face. By the time they were outside, Starscream looked as if nothing had happened and all was right with Cybertron. In fact, he looked ecstatic.

Optimus admired his acting skills briefly before reminding himself how dangerous they made this Seeker. Starscream was a seven-headed monster, each head with its own personality and intentions, poised to strike. 

“…Thank you.” The Seeker finally stated. “You’re right, if my sons had revealed themselves, it would have caused a panic. I was excited.”

“I can understand that. If I had been apart from my sons for so long, I would want to see them too.” Optimus replied. “It’s… refreshing, to see you care about someone so genuinely.”

“They’re my sons. I can’t help but love them, even if they’re dumbafts sometimes.” Starscream muttered the last portion, rolling his optics towards the sky.

As they walked past a group of neutrals who looked up and nodded as they passed, Starscream waving, Optimus gave Starscream a side-glance. “So, was claiming that you couldn’t carry just trying to make me give up this mad scheme for myself?”

“No, I still can’t carry.” Starscream’s wings flicked in displeasure. It must have been a truly sore point for the Seeker. He hid his displeased snarl from the neutrals – many of whom still studied them closely as if looking to reveal their duplicity.

“…And yet you have four sons…” Optimus questioned, looking down at him in confusion. “Are they adopted?”

“No. Perhaps a more accurate statement would be, I can’t kindle.” Starscream decided, clarifying. Apparently, he had decided that the fastest way to get this conversation over with would be to humor the Convoy with the information he was looking for. “Shockwave implanted my sons into my gestation chamber directly.”

“I can’t imagine Shockwave was content with just creating sparklings.” Optimus thought of the mad scientist and his increasingly insane experiments. Of late, Shockwave had “vanished” and that worried Optimus more than he wanted to let on. Starscream, he knew, tried to keep tabs on the major players in spite of the fact that they were pretty isolated outside the city. The Seeker had a network of spies in both factions working for him, but even with that, he still had lost the cyclops.

“Of course not. How else would I end up with four of the finest warriors in the Decepticons?” Starscream smiled sardonically. “Shockwave bulked them up even before they were born and enhanced them all throughout the Carrying process.”

“That sounds like it would have been dangerous for both you and your sons.” Optimus had some experience with how delicate life was when it was tampered with. Then again, Shockwave had had some very strong base marterial.

“Of course it was. But Megatron was quite willing to take the risk.” Starscream bitterly replied, optics flashing. There was a deep, old hurt there. Probably to do with the way his sons had been enhanced and how he had been manipulated into agreeing to it. It was a good thing Megatron was safely locked away, because Optimus had the feeling that that monster loose on Cybertron would cause him more nightmares than Starscream ruling it. “I tire of this conversation. We’re quite late to our own party and the dancing will have started. I don’t want to miss all of it.” And the Seeker transformed into a jet and took to the air, Optimus turning into a truck and following.

Optimus opened his comm channel. “I’m sorry.” He stated simply, knowing Starscream couldn’t leave something like that hanging out in the air.

“For what?” The Seeker finally questioned when he realized Optimus wasn’t going to answer on his own.

“For all that you’ve suffered.” Optimus stated simply. “And I know you will say it was not all my fault, but I don’t mean it that way. If there’s anything I can do to make your life better, in any small way, tell me, and I’ll try to help.” He kept the offer open-ended and vague and hoped Starscream would understand the boundaries without him having to explain them too much.

Starscream wobbled slightly in the air and dove, flying a series of tight circles around Optimus. The Prime kept moving, knowing the Seeker wouldn’t let himself hit the Convoy. He was far too proud of how well he flew to allow that. Optimus had spoken to Pharma about every aspect of Seeker culture and these tight circles were too distinct to go unrecognized.

It seemed the Seeker had decided to court him, perhaps covertly and under the cover of an already established relationship, but courting nevertheless.


	11. Too Good

Their guests were having a fine time without them, which was all right with Optimus. Being on display like this felt like flaunting their lies, even with the grains of truth that had begun to sprout. Starscream, of course, felt no such compunctions, and he practically dragged Optimus to the bar, ordering their usual Two-Faced Seekers, before planting himself firmly in the Convoy’s lap and refusing to move, pedes propped up on a second stool.

“Congratulations, Boss.” Rattrap beat them there, of course. How did he get around so quickly?

“Thank you, Rattrap.” Starscream pitched back his drink while Optimus tried to find a comfortable position with him on his lap. “How’s the party been?”

“After we realized you would be late, I moved your speeches to the end of the night instead of the beginning –“ Starscream interrupted him with a sigh and a wave of one hand.

“Just cancel them entirely. I intend to be too drunk to stand by the end of the night.” Starscream waved his lackey off and tapped the bar to order another drink. “I paid for this and I’m going to enjoy it.”

“Don’t get too over-charged to dance.” Optimus leaned on the bar, attempting to be casual.

Jazz walked up. “Well, look who it is! The happy couple themselves.” He had a slightly wary, slightly amused look on his faceplates. “The whole city’s been buzzing after this morning’s announcement. I hope you two know what you’re doing.”

“I think the question is: Does anyone?” Starscream smirked slightly. “I’m more surprised that people aren’t gabbing about the edict.”

“It’s a logical law.” Jazz evenly replied. “And one that will help a lot of people come home. But are you sure you’ve thought it through? What if someone like Overlord comes back?”

“If Overlord wants to come back and take an oath forswearing the Decepticons and his crimes, then he will have to be welcome here as well as any other.” Starscream stated evenly. “That’s the way something like this has to be.”

“I ain’t gonna argue, Mech, but you’re going to step on a lot of pedes. If Megatron took this oath…”

“Megatron will never hear of this edict. Not if I have anything to say about it.” Starscream shot back another drink. “And I don’t intend to think of this either.”

 

Optimus couldn’t tell a mech how he got back to his berth that evening. Starscream had – true to his word – become very over-charged at their reception. Not enough that he couldn’t stand, but enough that his tongue was loosed and so were his inhibitions.

“Your sons are staying in your apartment.” Optimus hissed to him as the Seeker was trying to feel him up.

“So, we’ll be quiet.” Starscream replied. 

“You don’t know the meaning of that word!” Optimus was holding him back with both arms, trying not to let the Seeker get his claws into his seams.

“You can gag me if you want. I know how good I look all tied up.” Starscream smirked.

“At least wait until we’re in the berthroom for Primus’s sake!” Optimus conceded the fight briefly and pinned Starscream to his side as the lift’s doors opened. Sixshot was the only mech awake, sitting at an easel he had set up and painting something onto a canvas. 

“You’re back.” The youngest of the three looked up at them. “It’s very late.”

“My apologies, Sixshot. I meant to have your Carrier back before ten.” Optimus replied evenly as Starscream’s claws tucked into a hip seam and began feeling about.

Sixshot didn’t seem to notice anything. “You both look a little too overcharged for decent conversation. Maybe it would be a good idea to get in berth.”

“I was just saying that to Starscream.” Optimus didn’t need to urge the Seeker forward.

“Good night, Freewings.” Starscream waved at his son over his shoulder.

“Night, Carrier. Don’t wake Trepan and Overlord.” Sixshot replied, applying more paint to the canvas. He seemed oddly calm about the whole situation, Optimus noted. Then again, he had spent his childhood with Megatron for a Sire and tanks were notorious for having a high sex drive. Perhaps he was just plain used to hearing his Carrier being fragged over something. Though that thought made the Prime blush as he made sure to lock the door.

Starscream almost tackled him, gripping his shoulder plating with taloned servos and leaving imprints of dark paint over his mask. Optimus gripped the Seeker’s aft, stumbling backwards towards the berth. Would all of their encounters happen after Starscream had gotten himself over-charged? Optimus wondered if – as a responsible mech – he should be letting this happen, but it was too far along to stop.

When he had a chance, Optimus bound a rag around Starscream’s mouth and pinned his servos above his head. “You heard Sixshot. We don’t want to wake Trepan and Overlord.” He reminded the Seeker as Starscream writhed against him, trying to take back control of the situation.

Starscream had a way of speaking with his optics that he was putting to good use. The red lights were flashing and spitting sparks up at him. 

Optimus began pressing down against the Seeker, rubbing into his plating and wings. “…Is this how we’re always going to end up in berth together? Overcharged into lust?” He questioned, almost musing, as he straddled Starscream to keep him still while he teased. “Is this what you want?”

Starscream didn’t answer except to cock up an optical ridge at him. Clearly, the Seeker hadn’t expected this turn of events.

“…I don’t want to do this. Not this way.” Optimus tugged the gag out from between the Seeker’s denteas.

“Not good enough for you?” Starscream sneered at him, optics still spitting the occasional spark.

“No. Too good to be treated like this.” Optimus rolled over onto his side and turned off the light, ignoring his own charge.


	12. Meeting With the Autobots

In the morning, Starscream was up, polished, and working long before Optimus had even set pede out of bed. The politically adept Seeker was in his office, doing paperwork, making statements, and approving the graduation of his class of law enforcement officers. “You look busy.” Optimus pointed out.

“That’s because I am busy.” Starscream replied. He was currently working on another draft of the constitution. “Did you want something?”

“I’m going out of the city. I have contacts I need to keep up with.” Optimus told him, watching the way the diamonds around Starscream’s neck reflected the light. 

Starscream looked up. He had to have drawn the conclusion that Optimus was keeping his “assassins” updated on the current situation. In the next moment, he seemed to remind himself that he was surrounded by three of his massive, vicious sons and hit his stride again. “…Hmph. You don’t need my permission.”

“Of course. I won’t be back until later.” Optimus told him, walking around his desk to brush a servo over a particular spot on Starscream’s neck. “Remember, you promised to call Flatline today.”

“There won’t be anything he can do.” Starscream warned him. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Of course not.” Optimus ducked his helm. “Perhaps tonight we can talk.”

“Whatever gets you out of my plating so I can continue to work.” Starscream was bent determinedly over his datapad and doing his best to ignore the Prime.

“All right. I will return.” Optimus bent down and kissed the back of his neck before rushing out of the office barely ahead of the thrown stylus that hit the door behind him.

 

“We barely believed it when we heard you’d returned.” Bluestreak told Optimus as they walked through the Autobots’ encampment. “Everything else… Well, I don’t know if I believe it, sir.” For once, Bluestreak wasn’t talking his audials off. That wasn’t a good sign. That meant he wanted answers and wouldn’t be happy until he had them.

“You mean about Starscream.” Optimus didn’t need to guess.

“Why him?!” Bluestreak burst out suddenly, turning to face the Prime. “Why not anyone else? Every mech here worships you.”

Optimus thought of his speech. Longer than he had wanted to speak, more true than he wanted to admit. The truth was that Bluestreak was right. If he had ever asked, he could have had any mech he wanted. Any Autobot would be proud to be considered his lover. And that was the problem. 

“I did not choose Starscream because he worships me, no. I chose him because I believe I can work with him.” With the added help of threats of death, and the increasingly sickening feeling that someday he would have to kill him went unsaid. “I chose him because, whether we like it or think it fitting or not, he rules Cybertron and – from what I’ve observed, he’s doing a good job.”

Bluestreak was struck dumb. Optimus glanced forwards and noticed Prowl standing in front of one of the rough-shod shelters that had been built up around them. Leaving his guide, he went to stand in front of his second in command and nodded down at the former police officer. A side-glance told him that the constructicons were nearby. He had heard that they were following his second in command about. “Prowl.”

“Optimus.” Prowl neutrally flicked his eyes to the spot where Optimus used to wear his Autobot Badge. “I take it you want to see Bumblebee.”

“I would, yes, but I came to speak with you.” Even Optimus had realized that Bumblebee would be little more than Prowl’s puppet when he handed the partial Matrix over to the young, yellow mech. Now, he regretted his decision to leave. It was clear that everything had gone to Pit as soon as he did. 

Prowl studied his former leader with sharp optics and then shrugged. “Of course. Come with me.” He led Optimus to one of the other shelters and gestured him in. “What can I do for you?”

“You can stop being a stubborn idiot and come home.” Optimus replied, sitting down. “I convinced Starscream to put an edict into law that will allow all Autobots and Decepticons to return under the proviso – “

“That we throw down our badges. Abandon the cause we fought for. Betray our ideals. And for what?”

“A chance to live in peace, Prowl. To heal Cybertron.” Optimus quietly replied. “These are what we fought for. Not for empty ideals. Not so we can say, at the end of things, that it is our way or the highway. We must made an end of the factionism that has divided us for far too long.”

“Do you hear yourself?!” Prowl stood up and paced in front of him. “Do you hear what you’re saying? It’s more than factionism that has divided us! We are Autobots! Have you forgotten Overlord? Tarn? Have you forgotten the death squads and the warmworlds?”

“I remember.” Optimus stood up. “I remember. Better than you, I think. I remember every time we had a choice – do what was right or win. And I remember every time we chose to win. We are no better than the Decepticons, Prowl. When it comes down to it, we choose to survive over our principles. Every time.” 

Prowl stared furiously at him. He opened his mouth and shut it again. Then, he turned away. “…Then why did we continue fighting?”

“Simple: Because we had not won.” Optimus answered him. “And we did not win. But we did not lose either. We have a chance to be something new, and if we lose it, it will not come again.”

“Something new… With Starscream at the helm.” Prowl shook his head. “That mech… Holds more grudges and has a better memory than all of us combined. The men say he never learns. You know as well as I do that it’s a lie. We may defeat him every time he comes back, but he’s a seven-headed serpent. Strike him down, and a new head grows in its place – wiser and more cunning than before.”

“Yes.” Optimus replied evenly. “Which is why we need him. For now.”

“…For now?” Prowl turned back slightly. “I’m listening.”

“That’s all I have to say.” Optimus simply shrugged. “We need him. His energy. His resilience. His clever mind. His strong spark. For now.”

“For now.” Prowl’s lipplates curled into a smirk. “… Well, for now… I think I can bide my time and wait.” He shook his helm, chuckling. “For a moment there, I was worried.”


	13. Past Indiscretion

Starscream was 140 when Megatron rose to prominence. The young Seeker was a dreamer, working on a series of scientific degrees in Iacon while struggling to keep his place in the academy. Everything and everyone was against him. Which was why Megatron’s message – equality, strength through unity – appealed to him. His aeriemate, Pharma, couldn’t understand. He had been tapped for the medical school almost from the very beginning. Something about natural talent for the discipline. They seemed to be less functionalist in the medical academy than the science and engineering academy. 

Starscream graduated and found that he couldn’t get work in Iacon. He had to go back to Vos, where they didn’t have a great program for scientists. And then… then, he found his place.

Megatron himself came to recruit him. Black-listed by the Academy. Working as a pharmacist. Barely scraping by. And Megatron himself came to recruit him. To say he was flattered was a severe understatement. He was blown away. And, at one hundred and sixty, he became a weapons manufacturer for the Decepticons. And the more he had worked for them… The more he worked with Megatron and the better he did… The more he grew close to the warlord.

“…So, what I’ve created is a means for Thundercracker to channel his sound waves more accurately.” Starscream explained to the large, silver mech. “It’s not perfect – not yet – but I’ll find a way to stop the dampening effect soon. That will allow him to focus his sonic boom on a single target.”

“That’s far better than having the whole field rocked briefly.” Megatron put a servo on the small of his back. “You’ve done well, Starscream. Now, there’s something else I wanted to speak with you about.”

“Oh, have we found some more unutrium? I think I’ve found –“ Starscream began.

“Yes, we have found some Unutrium, and it’s use is exactly what I want to speak to you about.” Megatron smiled down at him – and it was that rare smile that made Starscream’s spark turn over. “Shockwave and I have an idea…”

“…And you want me to be the Carrier?” Starscream was holding a vessel of engex in one servo and his optics were beginning to spark, but he was still lucid. “My Lord, you’re a very attractive mech. I would never say no, but I must admit that I have some doubts about this.”

“Speak your mind.” Megatron smiled and reached forward, refilling Starscream’s glass. “I’ll listen.”

“This process probably won’t be safe for me or the sparkling.” Starscream lifted the vessel. His optics began to turn pink. “I’m a very young Seeker still, not to mention underaged. Don’t you think it would be wiser to wait – “ his glass was full again. He could have sworn he had drunk it.

“There isn’t any time, unfortunately.” Megatron sympathetically stated. “And there’s no one else I would rather have for a mate. Your processor power makes you an ideal choice. So, yes, I do like you for your mind.”

Starscream felt like he was beginning to sway. “Well… If you put it that way… It seems silly to say no, but I am still very young.”

“You’re more mature than anyone else I’ve ever known.” Megatron’s voice caressed his audials. “Age is just a number. Are you the kind to let your fate be dictated by numbers that someone else chose for you?”

“Well… I am the youngest ever mech to be accepted by the science academy.” Starscream set down the vessel on the table. “…Then, this is a yes. But please, be gentle. You’re going to be my first.”

“Of course.” Megatron pulled the smaller Seeker into his lap and pressed a kiss to his lipplates. “I’ll never hurt you. I promise.”

 

“…You broke your promise.” Starscream whispered, looking up at the forcefield bubble and the twisting warlord inside it. He couldn’t hear him in there – the Seeker thought, but Starscream wasn’t really talking to him. “You always hurt me. I was just too young and blind to recognize it.”

He stepped away, holding his helm in one servo. “…Tarn decided to put me on the List because of you. Because I’ve been doing my best to reunite Cybertron. To undo everything you did. My sons have all come back to me. All but the one you stole. I will never understand how I managed to keep all of them but him. Even Freewings came back under my wings, but not Skitterpedes.”

“…Why am I here, talking to you?” Starscream scoffed. “I’m in a mess of my own and you’re stuck. Enjoy imprisonment, you son of a glitch – I have a world to rule.” He stomped out, flipping a rude gesture back at Megatron as he went.

 

Megatron watched Starscream go, thinking. Starscream blamed him for Tarn’s continued loyalty to the Cause. It was amazing that he had never seen the truth of the matter. 

Megatron still had voices that whispered information to him. Soundwave’s continued loyalty could be a mixed blessing. There was an edict in force. Complete and total pardon for anyone who threw down their badges. How little Starscream had always understood about the nature of their factions. The nature of the war. 

Megatron could use this edict. It might come in handy as a little back-pocket plan, but so far… all he felt was tired.


	14. Overlord And Optimus

Optimus returned to the apartment to find Overlord fixing the sink. “…Whoever that is, hand me the pipe wrench. This drip is driving me crazy.”

“This one?” Optimus offered him the tool from beside him.

“Yeah, actually. Wouldn’t really expect you to know what it is.” Overlord took the wrench and opened the joint. “Then again, I guess we were all fighting a war.”

“Actually, I learned home maintenance before the war.” Optimus explained. “My Creator taught me.”

“…Scrapper taught me. Not a bad mech. Shame about what happened to him.” Overlord replied, pleasantly enough, but there was an edge in his voice. “Carrier is out, and so are my brothers. Trepan is lying down. So, tell me about your relationship with my Carrier. Specifically, what are your intentions?”

“I would think of our relationship as growing.” Optimus decided to hedge slightly. He didn’t know how much Overlord knew. “We’ve been enemies for a very long time, but I do believe that Starscream is what we need to help unite Cybertron.”

“Funny. The way Carrier described it, you threatened him with assassination if he didn’t agree to bond with you.” Overlord lightly replied.

“…And with that in mind, what do you propose to do about it?” Optimus questioned, aware that he was at a – however brief – tactical advantage for the moment. He had faced Overlord before and the mech was second-best only to Megatron, but he had defeated Megatron as well. 

“Nothing. Carrier tends to choose abusive afts, it seems.” Overlord pushed his servo out again. “U-bend, please.” He took the piece and continued working. “I will say this – If you ever hurt Carrier, I will not suffer another Megatron in our lives.”

“…Noted.” Optimus grimly acknowleged as Overlord pushed himself out from under the sink and stood up. His hands were grimy from the tools and the job and he had a steely look in his optics. “I do not intend to become another Megatron.”

“The road to the Pit is paved with good intentions.” Overlord washed his servos at the newly-repaired sink and turned away to put up his tools. “And the steps are broad and straight, right up to the bottom.”

Optimus nodded. “…I will keep that in processor.” He wondered, briefly, if he shouldn’t consider sleeping elsewhere, but no – Starscream would know exactly how his death would look under the circumstances. 

 

“I don’t like that we can’t seem to find Shockwave.” Starscream was speaking with Sixshot when he came home that evening. “That one-eyed adding machine is always up to something. Freewings, I need you to go out and see if you can’t succeed where my other servants have failed. We can’t afford another attack or more chaos.” The Seeker looked up when Optimus approached. “Ah, Optimus. Had a good talk with the Autobots, did you?”

“I believe most of them will return – eventually.” The Prime easily met Starscream’s optics. “Overlord and I had a most interesting discussion and the sink is repaired.”

“Good. That drip was driving me insane.” Starscream kissed Trepan’s cheeks as the shorter mech stepped out of his berthroom. The former-mnemosurgeon looked ready to split open. “How do you feel today, darling?”

“Ready to pop, and eager to find a home of our own – your hospitality is the finest on Cybertron, Starscream, but I hate to be in your way.” The carrying mech went to a coolant pitcher and poured a cube. “Everything is running hot – it’s not going to be very long at all.” The mech’s pelvis was heating and softening, stretching out for the ordeal ahead of him – birthing a sparkling was never easy for grounders. 

“Perhaps before the night is over even.” Starscream looked at the bump, gauging it. “You might have arrived just in time.”

“I’m going to stay up to make sure nothing untoward happens, Carrier.” Overlord told him. “And where’s Giltbeacon? He promised to bring some of those crystals that help to open the pelvis wider.”

“Overlord, some of us don’t want to hear about this.” Sixshot reminded him from his canvas that he was continuing to work on now that he had returned home.

“Giltbeacon went out into the wilds to forage.” Starscream reminded them, sitting down on the couch. “He’ll be back inside the city before dark, though – he knows the dangers out there.”

Optimus found himself settling beside Starscream when the lift door burst open and Black Shadow – whistling a happy tune and carrying a massive basket full of fruits. “The planet is flourishing!” He declared as he rinsed and chopped a few of them into bowls and handed them out. “Taste these: They’re amazing! And there’s a whole forest full of all sorts of things – not a hundred miles from here. Carrier, have we gotten around to land rights yet?”

“It’s a free-for-all at the moment, but if you’re going to be pillaging the countryside again, we’ll have to have something set up. Perhaps plots of land can be given to those willing to work and set up residences there.” Starscream explained. “But… A forest, are you sure? There hasn’t been a natural forest of any kind of flora since –“

“Since the Functionists decided they were defunct an age ago!” Overlord was eating the fruits, crushing them between his denteas and swallowing with delight. 

Optimus looked down at the cubed fruits – they had a coppery tone and were a bright pink. A taste revealed they were sweet and fruity. 

“It seems there’s too much we simply don’t know about the world any more.” Starscream smiled as he crushed his own fruits into juice with the back of his spoon and drank the resulting pulped mixture. “Giltbeacon, when people are used to you being around, I’m going to appoint you an official explorer and cartographer – if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Black Shadow flashed a look of mischief. “If you don’t mind that I’d be making a second map of all the best foraging spaces. I can’t wait to build my restaurant, Carrier, it’s going to be like nothing you’ve ever seen!”


End file.
